The Day I Fly Away
by TheLastofUs
Summary: In which Castiel is schizophrenic and loves to play Sorry. Dean is his doctor. "Tell me yours." "Mine?" "Your story." "I don't like my story."
1. Chapter 1

_The Day I Fly Away_

The mental ward always was a cold place. The tiles chilled Castiel's feet as he walked across it, but he could not feel warmth or a chill as he was an angel. All Castiel could hear was the soft tapping of game pieces on the game board while others spoke around him, some yelled, and some laughed. Castiel allowed himself to smile as he picked up another card and moved his game piece up a few places.

"Castiel," he heard a woman call his name with a plastic smile, a pitying smile. "You're being transferred to a new doctor, all right? No freaking out okay?" She spoke as if he would have some break down if he was suddenly in the presence of someone he did not know. Castiel felt indifferent to this.

Castiel stood where he was, collecting his game pieces and stuffing them into his pocket as he made his way over. He nodded and the woman motioned for him to follow. It was the fifth doctor this month and twelfth this year since he'd been admitted. He tucked a loose curl of his hair behind his ear, some habit he'd always gotten into, and he'd glanced at therapists notes, this was apparently a telltale sign of schizophrenia. Castiel's mind wandered away from him and he found his eyes losing focus, looking around a new place that wasn't the hospital he was trapped in; this was one of the only times he was ever free.

_It's a secret_, Balthazar whispered to him. Castiel nodded, "I know," he said softly. The secret Balthazar was referring to was the secret of demons, angels, and monsters, because if others knew there would be chaos. Something cold ripped through Castiel like a rock when—

"Castiel?" the nurse snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. "Come on, don't go zoning out on me already! Doctor Winchester is a nice guy. You'll like him."

Sometimes Castiel wished he had a remote that controlled that girl's mouth that sputtered like a broken record. _You'll like her/him. She/he's nice! _He heard Balthazar laugh at the nurse and Castiel cracked a smile himself. The nurse opened the door for him and Castiel wandered into a room that was two degrees cooler. He was still barefoot.

"Hey, you're Cas right?" a man at the desk asked.

"Castiel," said man corrected, "Yes, I am. You are Doctor Winchester?"

"I know, man, I was just giving you a nickname. Seems cooler right? And Dean's fine."

The doctor gestured to the seat in front of him and Castiel slid into the seat. His hand slipped into his pocket and he played with the red pawn under the table. _Put that away_, Balthazar said to him, _there's a man right there. Isn't that rude?_

"So," Dean started, flipping through some papers. "I've been told you're schizophrenic."

"They do say that," Castiel agreed, his voice soft yet with an edge. It's almost as if he were standing by a cliff with an avalanche warning above him. Don't be too loud to trigger the rocks, but at the same time, he felt uneasy. That type of voice.

"But you don't agree with them?" Dean asked, and Castiel was yanked back to earth by a rope around his neck.

_Why do they even bother having different doctors? They all say the same things_, he heard the slow drawl of a girl, a demon that was a kind demon nonetheless. She called herself Meg. "I don't know," Castiel muttered back to her and smiled. _Don't talk to me while there's a hottie right over there_, Meg teased. Castiel's head snapped to his right and he glared at the seemingly empty space.

Dean looked at Castiel curiously. "Who's that?" he asked.

Castiel looked back at him and said, "Who? Meg?"

Dean smiled, "Yeah her."

Castiel glared again, "She's just joking around, don't listen to her."

"All right," Dean raised his hands in surrender. He paused for a few minutes before starting again, "You know," he started softly. "Sometimes I think people like you are special. Like they can see things no one else can. Sort of like a super power."

Castiel tilted his head out of habit, as if somehow the sky would open up and pour into him because that's how he felt at the moment; just empty and needing something to fill him up. Being poison, being magic, being thought, being beings. He felt something stir inside him because no one's ever said that before. "Special?" he asked and felt Meg nudge his arm.

"Yeah I mean, I'm boring," Dean jammed a thumb to his chest. "Everything I can see, you can, too. But you? I can't see Meg, and you can. I can't hear her either. What's she like?"

Castiel looked at Dean for a while, feeling like a tornado of everything was rushing through the room. His fingers twitched as he wished to turn around just to check.

"She's annoying," he blurted out and Dean laughed. Castiel's cheeks flushed. "I mean, she can be annoying. She's always teasing me, but she's also sweet sometimes."

Dean nodded in that doctor-way and Castiel was a bit surprised when Dean didn't write anything down. The room felt so warm and comfortable, and for the first time someone other than his brothers or Meg had made him smile. Ice skating in summer was treacherous, then why did Castiel love it? Love this feeling of ease between the two of them. Because this ice was melting in everything that was this person and what was this _feeling_? Was it drowning but lifting and flying at the same time, and oh, just one minute of nothingness because Castiel just can't breathe.

"Oh cool," Dean said and leaned his elbows on the desk. "Anyone else I should know about or is there only Meg?"

Castiel fiddled with the red pawn in his pocket. "Well, there are others of course. I have over two million brothers and sisters."

Dean leaned back in his chair, letting out a big breath. "Holy shit, man, how are the family reunions?"

Castiel laughed and peered up at Dean whom was smiling as well. Something was blazing inside him like an orchestra of every melody on the Earth and in the Heavens. This man was nothing like anyone he'd ever met, and somehow, brighter than the brightest archangel.

Dean stretched out his arms again before continuing, "So tell me more about your family. The people I can't see but wish I could."

Castiel picked his feet up from the ground and crossed them adolescently in his chair. He found himself telling Dean about Balthazar, the cocky and annoying brother, and about Gabriel, the asshole who always pranked him. He told Dean about Anna, his little sister that ran away from home and is somewhere on Earth now, like him. Dean nodded throughout the whole thing, smiling and never questioning a word or giving him that look that just _screams_ "You're crazy."

Castiel picked the red game piece pawn and put it on top of the desk as he continued to tell stories, like how when he was twelve Gabriel stuck gum in his hair and he had to go to his birthday party like that, and how glad he was when no one noticed or at least showed that they noticed. Dean laughed that beautiful, orchestral laugh and Castiel found himself laughing, too.

And in some unspoken signal Castiel leaned over on the table and smiled wider than he had in a long time. Dean mirrored him and their eyes prodded at each other in some game of hide and seek except all there was was seeking and never any hiding.

"Your eyes are _so_ blue."

"Your eyes are so _green_."

Dean laughed again. "All right then," and the spell was broken as he sat back. "So, Cas, I think I'll give you these two ugly things. Take this one every morning and night and the other one after dinner. Okay?"

Oh right. Dean was his doctor. Castiel nodded and took the pawn back from the table and stuffed it back in his pocket. He grabbed the medicine next and placed them neatly next to each other. Dean flashed him another smile and Castiel felt his soul back in Heaven. Then the door opened and another patient walked in.

"See ya, Cas," Dean gave him a small wave before his eyes landed on the other person.

Castiel turned around the corner, hearing faintly in the background as Dean greeted the next patient. He pulled the game piece out of his pocket and sat down by the wall, placing it in front of him and fishing out other pieces. The game board was memorized, and he picked up a fabricated card and slid the red pawn over a few inches because—an earthquake or was that his heart beating wildly?—that's what made him _special_.

* * *

"Good morning," Dean greeted as Castiel sat down again that next morning. "How are you feeling?"

Castiel shrugged. Dean copied him jestingly.

With a big sigh Dean leaned over the desk and folded his hands. Their eyes locked and the key was thrown to the sea and Castiel did not go fetch it since he did not like the ocean. Dean's eyes narrowed as if he was solving the mystery, the puzzle that was Castiel. And just scream from the Heavens because down on earth, Castiel can't hear him loud enough.

"All right, entertain me now. I'm bored," Dean proclaimed and his chair rolled back a few inches.

"Entertain you?" the words felt strange on Castiel's tongue. This man was his doctor, right? Castiel's eyes traced around Dean's face, trying to pick up on any clue that he may not have been serious. He found none.

Dean took out a piece of paper and clicked his pen loudly. Twice. "I'll have to mark you down for a hearing check," he joked, peeking up at him again before crumpling the paper. "Yeah, man, tell me a story or something. I've been sitting here all day, I could do without some trivial shit. C'mon."

Castiel tilted his head again and Dean did the same as if to say _you do that a lot you know_. Castiel's head snapped back upright, fighting the blush that was knocking at his door.

"There once was a tree… Who loved a little boy…" Castiel started, one of the only stories he really knew. His eyes darted up to Dean to see if he recognized it. Dean didn't. "And every day the boy would climb up the tree, and swing on her branches, and eat apples, and be happy. The tree loved the boy so much, and the boy loved the tree, and they were happy."

"_The Giving Tree_?" Dean said softly and smiled. "Gotta love Shel Silverstein."

"I don't know any stories, really," Castiel said, finding no point on continuing _The Giving Tree_ since Dean had already known it.

"Tell me yours."

"Mine?"

"Your story."

Castiel played with the red pawn under the desk.

"_It's all your fault! I hate you! I hate you! I'll kill you!"  
"I'm sorry!"_

_ "No you aren't!"_

"I don't like my story," Castiel shook his head and twirled the game piece.

"Well you can't blame me for being curious," Dean said and leaned on one arm.

_Castiel held his soaking shirt over his stomach and cried silently, locked in the closet of his bedroom as he heard angry shouts from outside. The door shook and rattled and Castiel hugged his knees for some sort of comfort. The world felt like it was shaking and Castiel had never been more afraid—only, please, only would he behave. He yanked another shirt down from the closet and hid his face in it. He wanted to disappear._

_ "Come out here, bitch!"_

"I don't like my story at all," Castiel insisted, his voice becoming frantic and his hands starting to shake.

Dean seemed to back off after that. He nodded, "All right, okay," he gave up, "What about I tell you my story?"

Castiel seemed to calm down at the shift in attention. He felt something drop over them, something chilling and cold, but the refreshing kind of cold. Like iced lemonade rather than being locked outside in the snow.

Castiel nodded eagerly.  
"Okay, okay," Dean grinned and clapped his hands. "Let's see… I have a brother, Sam. He's awesome. We go out and hang every once and a while. He has a girlfriend and everything. I live alone, but I like the solitude. Gotta think y'know? Anyways, I got to admit my life was pretty blessed, and I'm lucky to be where I am. Worst thing I can think of that happened was that my mom almost died in a house fire, but the fire department came on time and we all go out safe. I always like helping people, did a lot of tutoring in school. I guess that's where this whole doctor place came from, but I don't really like to see people die so I didn't want to be that person behind the medical table and see the flat line… Wow I just got depressing," Dean laughed, "Anyways, I like helping out people like you.

"But there's one thing people always get wrong. There's nothing wrong with being the way you are. I think you're more beautiful the more unique you are, and you, Castiel, you're a whole new brand of human, angel, whatever you want to say you are, because you _are_. Like I said: Me? I'm boring, but you, Oh you, Castiel… I'm going to have to make up a new word just to say—"

"Mr. Winchester, another patient. You're going overtime."

Dean's head snapped in the direction of the door and he ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

"All right, bring 'im in," he said regretfully.

Castiel stuffed the Sorry game piece back into his pocket and stood with a creak of the chair. Before he got far, though, Dean stood and grabbed his wrist.

"To say how perfect you are," he finished, words rushed and desperate to get the point across.

Castiel felt as if electricity was shooting through him and a light blush dusted over his cheeks. It happened so quickly that Castiel wasn't sure if it had happened. Dean was sitting back at his desk and already greeting the next patient. Dean's eyes lifted back up to Castiel and he gave him a wave.

Castiel left the room and leaned against the door for a few seconds, catching his breath before it got too far away from him.

_You like him_, Meg teased, _You really like him_.

* * *

_A/N: Soo did you like it? Should I continue? I love reviews~_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: OMFG YOU GUYS ARE SO NICE Like seriously I didn't expect people to actually like it and omg I'm so happy now! Welp here's chapter two I hope you like this one too! I'm pretty busy atm though, like I only have two free days (Monday and Tuesday) so I hope I can update one a week at least, and for this fic I'm SUPER inspired. Got lotsa cool ideas y'know? So let's see how this works out. I did this "soundtrack" thing for one of my multi-chapters so I'll do it for this one too because why not? Anyways you didn't come here to hear me talk you came here to hear my story. Here ya go! I love to get reviews btw don't be shyyy ;)_

**_Soundtrack for this chapter: Medicine by Daughter_**

* * *

The Day I Fly Away

Chapter II

The feeling of being completely and absolutely trapped is indescribable other than to those whom have felt it. The feeling of being closed in on, chest tightening and all you want to do is _scream_ but you can't, or if you do it just isn't loud enough. Voice hoarse and sticking to your throat like poison and just _burning_. This _burning_ this _blazing fire_ that won't go away and water only makes it worse like in a kitchen fire. And still, I have not described it accurately, because, only those of you whom have felt this way know exactly what I'm talking about—know exactly how Castiel felt at that moment.

"Calm down! Calm down! Nurse!"

Castiel screamed and pushed himself against the wall. Arms flailing and hitting anyone that got to close to him. He pushed a chair over and in front of him in defense. It was like watching someone play a two-person video game, except there's a glitch because there's only one character on the screen, and no matter how many times you hit square-for-punch the other's health gauge just _won't go down_.

"No one's hurting you, Castiel, you need to calm down!" the nurse's head swiveled around, "Someone get something to calm him down!"

Castiel hugged his knees and kept screaming, his fingernails digging into the skin of his legs, but the pain was not enough to get him to stop, the clouds never felt so heavy above him, made of the heaviest lead and silver. Unlock those gates to Heaven, oh please, let Castiel be _free_. His foot kicked at nothing and tears streamed down his face like rain off the side of a broken building because _please please please_, but no one knew what he was begging for, and no one could see what was tormenting him.

"Cas! Dude, calm down!" Dean shouted as he ran up to the scene. He grabbed Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel threw his arm in Dean's direction with a terrified yelp, knocking him away, _"Don't touch me!"_ he screamed, his voice cracking and he kept swiping at the air. "_Please don't touch me anymore!"_

Castiel felt talons ripping at the insides of his head, pricking into his eyes and just, oh for the love of God _stop_. He threw his head from side to side and curled in on himself, shouting at the thing, the person, that no one could see to get away from him. His eyes squeezed shut and all he wanted to do was scream louder so he did. All he wanted to feel was nothing, but he could not feel nothing. How he yearned to be sucked into oblivion but—

Castiel must have been wishing too hard because a needle plunged into his forearm and he felt his body falling limp and he collapsed on the tile floor, the Sorry game pieces falling out of his pocket as he felt his eyes growing weary with fatigue. He stopped fighting and allowed himself to sleep.

* * *

A bottle of pills was placed with an audible _thud_ in the middle of the table.

Dean looked from the bottle to Castiel and pursed his lips.

Castiel looked from the bottle to Dean and squinted.

"Yours," Dean proclaimed and pointed at the medicine. "You'll have to take those every morning now."

Castiel grimaced but took the bottle and slid it in front of himself, tapping the lid with his finger absentmindedly. _It's Naomi's fault, you know that_, Samandriel said in attempt to comfort him. _She gets into all of our heads_. Castiel nodded and pulled his knees up to his chest.

"It'd help to talk about it, you know," Dean said and leaned forward. He looked like every other doctor again. Castiel wanted him to be _Dean_ not _Doctor_.

Castiel shrugged. _He wouldn't believe you anyways. Just like all those other doctors_, Samandriel added. "I know," Castiel told him, but at least he felt a bit better knowing he wasn't alone. There was a lengthy pause with Dean looking at him expectantly, and that's when Castiel realized Dean probably thought he had answered him.

"No, I mean, that was to Samandriel," Castiel explained. "He said you're just like all those other doctors. You wouldn't believe me anyways."

Dean sat forward with his arms on the table. "Hey, listen to me," he said sternly, "Like I said, you are what you say you are. The world is only what people make of it, and if that's what you say you are, if that's what you say happened, that's the _truth_. It's real."

But Castiel still hadn't looked up. Dean grabbed the pills from Castiel, rattling them around until Castiel looked up confusedly. _He's not like the others,_ Meg interjected. _I told you, you like him because he isn't like the others._

"Look at me," Dean demanded in a voice that Castiel couldn't refuse.

Castiel's gaze snapped up and _I could get lost in your eyes. I am._

"Did it feel real?" Dean asked and his eyes never left Castiel's in that way that made Castiel feel like he was wading waist-deep in a river, stepping over rocks and stones and tree branches. Do you feel that wind that whispers past his ear or see the mountain that fell to his knees to have a look at _Dean's eyes_?

Castiel nodded numbly.

"Then it happened, and I'll believe you. But I can't believe this air between us or this table or—" Dean rattled the bottle of pills around some more— "These. You have to tell me."

Castiel felt like he was sitting in a bathtub filled with ice. He couldn't stop shaking, stop shivering, but somehow it was okay because _Dean_, and that single word, single name was the only justification he ever needed.

"It was Naomi," he said in a fear-stricken voice.

Dean leaned back in his chair, seemingly content with getting Castiel to talk. "Naomi? Who's Naomi? Is she an angel, too?"

Castiel nodded. "Father is gone, so she runs a lot of Heaven now."

Dean made a noise of understanding. "So what happened? What did she do?"

_Castiel screamed in pain as a hand pulled his hair, forcing him to his knees. His bloodshot eyes looked up pleadingly to the woman above him. She cursed at him and spat on his face, pulling his hair harder and threw him into the wall. She shouted over and over at him that it was his fault, and alas all of Castiel's pleads and cries for forgiveness, he was unheard. He drove himself hoarse and deaf of his own voice and oh God, could he not scream enough?_

Castiel started to shake in fear at he didn't even know what, something buried so deeply within him that only a crack would make him scream and beg to be forgiven for something he didn't remember what. He only wanted to be forgiven.

"Hey, hey, Cas, you okay, man?" Dean said hastily, "You're okay you know that right? You're safe in here. I put angel warding around so no one can get you."

"But I'm an angel, too. How can I be in here then?"

Dean shrugged, "Guess you're just special. You're _my_ angel."

And if those words didn't make Castiel's heart flutter nothing would.

Castiel gave a shaking breath and he looked back up at Dean. "She gets in all our heads," he told him. "That's how Samandriel puts it."

"Your brother?"

Castiel nodded.

"All right then. Start talkin'," Dean said, pushing his chair back and kicking his feet up jokingly.

Castiel chuckled and Dean laughed too, taking his feet back down, but leaned forward to show Castiel he was serious about the talking part. Castiel didn't know where to start, really. He reached his to his pocket for his Sorry game pieces, but found his pocket was empty. His eyes widened and he shoved his hands in his pockets, turning them inside out.

"Where's—" he said frantically and stood up, looking around the room.

"Where's what?" Dean said, his doctor voice back. Castiel didn't like that voice.

"Sorry," he said quickly, "Sorry game. Pawn. Red."

"These?"

Dean pulled out five red pawns from his bag and put them on the table, watching them roll before coming to a slow stop. One was standing up straight while the other four were on their sides. Castiel let out a relieved breath.

"Yes," he said breathlessly, "Yes."

He collected the pieces and put them back in his pocket, taking the one that was still standing and turned it over in his hand. It felt heavy, weighing down in his hand and burning and blistering the skin. He looked back up at Dean.

"What did you do to it?"

"The game pieces? I just picked them up when you dropped them. Is anything wrong?"

Castiel looked back at his palm. "Nothing. They're just different."

"A bad different? Want me to get you a new game board?"

But Castiel shook his head and said, "It isn't bad. Just different."

The door opened and another patient poked their head in. Castiel took that as a sign to leave and he started towards the door, still looking at the game piece.

"Cas!" Dean called, and Castiel turned around. Dean waved the bottle of pills at him. "Catch!"

The bottle of pills fell to the floor a few feet short.

"Sorry," Castiel muttered and bent down to pick it up.

"Nah, my bad. I shouldn't have thrown them."

Castiel picked up the pills silently, the bottle feeling as strange as the game pieces did, but he pretended it didn't bother him at all. He closed the door slowly and his bare feet dragged across the tiles. To be reading a book, and feel as if you are in a desert, is that even possible? To be eating ice cream but feel like you're drowning in salt water—that seemed impossible, too. To be afraid of heights, afraid of falling, but not afraid of the arms spread out before him under the clouds of the first fall, it seemed unlikely. But it was true. _You like him, you like him, you really really like him,_ Meg chanted in a singsong voice.

"Shut up," Castiel grumbled and shoved the red pawn and the medicine into different pockets.

* * *

_Your move_, Gabriel said.

Castiel picked up a card, being in the main room, he had an actual board again with actual cards. The paper between his fingers felt crusting and old, undeserving of such treatment from others. He could see patients in the past bending the cards, biting the corner in concentration. No one deserves to be used like that. He moved his red pawn over three spaces and nodded to Gabriel. Gabriel's pawns were yellow. He moved four spaces. Castiel sat up straighter with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips in a game of tug-a-war. He picked up another card and this time he moved two spaces.

_So what's up Cassie? _

Castiel shrugged and then nodded to him for him to move. He did.

_Meg told me you had a crush_, Gabriel raised his eyebrows up suggestively.

"I do _not_ have a crush," Castiel denied, but despite his words a blush crawled up his face.

Gabriel held his hands up in mock surrender before moving a few more spaces.

"You have to go back to start," Castiel told Gabriel when he picked up a new card; his eyes looked up seemingly in a pleading manner. "Sorry."

Gabriel shrugged indifferently and moved his pawn back. They continued playing the game in relative silence, listening to the others around them. Some patients were loud and laughed hysterically for no reason, and some were stonily silent. Castiel's hands felt cold and he rubbed them together, looking at the open window and debating whether or not to close it. He never did.

But there was something comforting from the window, this feeling of light both in air and of refreshment. Green was never green enough no matter where he looked; some say the grass is always greener on the other side, but Castiel disagrees. The grass is dull on his side and grey on sides farther. May he dig until his fingers are coated and caked in dirt, lather up the soap but still he cannot hide the grime. All he wants to do is be clean.

Castiel stood up, collecting his pawns and stuffing them back into his pocket. Gabriel didn't ask why he stopped playing anymore. Castiel never finished any games he started. He walked aimlessly, finding himself in the garden; how he loved the garden, singing, dancing, waltzing, but there was no music, there didn't need to be. There were a couple people walking around like he was, some with their doctors and some laying down in the grass. Flowers reached up and grabbed his ankles, Stay, they told him and danced around him.

"I can't," he replied, "Sorry."

_ "Sorry, sorry, sorry—!"_

_ "YOU NEVER ARE!"_

"Cas?" he heard Dean call a few feet down. He was sitting on a bench with a girl.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said and Dean smiled. Castiel felt a smile growing on his own face but he suppressed it.

_You like him_, Meg teased again and Castiel's cheeks flushed because of course he didn't. _You keep telling yourself that, Clarence._

They didn't say anything more though, because Castiel passed him either out of embarrassment or thinking himself as bothersome. Dean was with a patient anyways. The sky beckoned Castiel to return home, but he knew he could not. No, he never could, not yet. He ventured to the middle of the garden where a man was tending to the flowers. How kind of him.

He's sorry. He really is.

Castiel pulled a game piece out of his pocket, rubbing it between his fingers absentmindedly as he sat down among the flowers and the bees and the butterflies and can he please fall into nothing? He raised a hand and squinted at the sun between his fingers. He closed his eyes.

He could feel the bees flying in front of his face and he smiled that thin-caked smile. The type of thin that you get if you roll pizza dough out too much. Castiel never made pizza before, but he could imagine it. That's how he smiled. There were patients around him swatting at the bees, and that did not make Castiel smile, that made him frown. Bees were gentle and misunderstood. They could sting only once and die right there. They would live their lives out in fear _I have one chance to defend myself, and even if I do, it will kill me_.

"I won't hurt you," he said to the bees. "I promise. Don't hurt yourself over me. I don't want to hurt anyone. I really really don't. I never wanted to hurt anyone."

The bees clouded his vision and he smiled. He could hear them say back, _I know. It's okay, _and as much as Castiel doubted it, he allowed himself to believe it just for that moment.

"Okay," he said softly in a voice that skipped once over the blazing hot, hard and uneven gravel. "Okay."


	3. Chapter 3

**Soundtrack for this chapter: Sleepwalking by Radical Face**

_The Day I Fly Away_

_Chapter III_

It became easier every day for Castiel to walk into the doctor's office. Before, he felt his skin crawl, under, over, inside out and _run away because those doctors never helped in the slightest_. Castiel used to just _hear_ their questions resonate from behind the door; he heard the calls and claims that were for his insanity, and once, he'd heard a doctor shout at him that he wasn't fixable. He feared the wringing of hands and shaking of heads, the pitying looks; Castiel felt like he was standing in quicksand with those other doctors. He could hear tin cans clanging together in a way that was so discordant, but somehow it felt… Existent? Is that a word that may be of use?

"Are you coming in or what?" Dean poked his head out the door and Castiel realized he had probably been thinking too long.

Castiel answered by walking through the door and Dean hopped over the desk and sat in his chair. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Castiel's lips because it was just like a child. _You like him, you like him, you like him_, he heard Meg chanting and he did his best to ignore her. Dean started like every other doctor, and Castiel expected this, this simple _How are you?'_s and _Did anything interesting happen yesterday? _Castiel was beginning to think it was some law that they all had to start like that.

"So," Dean said, leaning forward in a way that was comfortable and friendly. "You're going to tell me about friends. People you liked before you came here. You've been here a year right?"

Castiel nodded, trying to think back. It felt like reaching through a plastic bag into strawberry jelly, icky, sticky, vague and _wrong_. The more he wandered back the more he was consumed with darkness and just when he was about turn back around the image of a restaurant came into mind. People rushing back and forth and couples eating lasagna, the lights flickering once or twice and then a man coming up to him with a smile, saying something indistinguishable before giving him a plate of food. Castiel took the plate to a table.

"There was someone with blond hair," he said softly. "I don't remember well…"

"That's all right. Try your best."

_The restaurant felt comfortable, Castiel knew his way around easily. Had he worked there long? Castiel couldn't quite remember, but with each passing second, the memory became clearer. Tapping on a glass will soon break it. And with the nearest memory at place, break it did. _

_"Cas? Are you alright?"_

_ The man with blond hair held Castiel's arm in attempted comfort but Castiel threw him off rashly, he shouted, "Don't touch me!" He seemed deranged, as if the words were not meant for the man. Castiel's eyes looked up wide and panicked. "Please get her away from me!"_

_ "Get who away from you?"_

"He may have…"  
_ The man with blond hair rushed to a phone and dialed for help. Customers had started rushing away from the scene, and some stared. Castiel was under table, trying to keep away from something. The man with blond hair looked terrified, though not of the scene but for his friend whom was obviously in some sort of pain. No matter if he could not see it, it was obvious that Castiel could feel it and that's all that mattered._

_ "Cas, Cas look at me," the blond haired man said, crawling under the table with him. "You're safe okay? I promise nothing's getting you. Just please calm down. For me, okay?"_

Words started to pop up vaguely and Castiel gave a small smile. "I remember. He had a British accent. I made fun of him for it once. We worked at a restaurant together."

_Castiel's eyes snapped up, tears streaming down his face and the blond haired man forced himself not to look away. Castiel needed to be comforted from whatever this was. _

_ "Tell her I'm sorry," Castiel begged. "She won't listen to me. Maybe she'll listen to you."_

_ "Tell who?"_

Castiel's face scrunched up, perhaps he same way it would if someone just threw a wet rag at him. Fragments came back to him at a time, but the more he remembered, the faster his heart beat was. The more his hands shook. The more he looked panicked.

_ "M—"_

"Cas, are you okay?"

_ Blurred and skipped tracks, sketches in mechanical pencil never to be inked over. Babbling and garbling speech and then just a bit clearer—_

_ "You should get help."_

"He—He's the one that told me to come here," Castiel stopped abruptly. "No, I can't remember. I can't. I'm lying, none of that's real. It can't be real. It—" Castiel looked up at Dean with desperation leaking from every orifice. "Please tell me it isn't real."

Dean leaned forward. "Castiel, what were you saying? How isn't it real?"  
"Balthazar is my brother. He's an angel. He couldn't—"

Different realities started to bleed together. The hazy image of Balthazar's face and words mixed with something clear and _tangible_. And then Meg—

_"Hey, Clarence, got that history assignment done yet?_"

"Dean!" Castiel shouted desperately, his head pounding and heart beating rapidly. Catch his soul with a butterfly net before it runs away too far, clipped wings never to fly again have begun to rebel. They have been told time and time again that they could not fly, but they were. Fly _far_ and fly _fast_ and Castiel couldn't breathe because

_"Tell who?"_

_ "Mo—"_

"What? What's wrong?" Dean said, his voice dancing on the edge of a polished blade.

Castiel shook his head violently, violently—before he fell relaxed. It was a chilling kind of change, as if from years of sleeping in the snow, as if from dreamless nightmares. Fall from a cliff or two maybe three, would it not make a difference? Or would you give him change for a dollar because his card isn't working?

"Cas?" Dean asked hesitantly.

Castiel looked up as if he didn't know Dean was there.

"Are you all right?"

Castiel's hand found his pocket and he rubbed the red pawn.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

* * *

In the next session, Dean was more cautious, more careful. His fingers itched and twitched with eagerness, needing—wanting—to know what Castiel was talking about yesterday and what happened that made him stop. It shocked him the way it would if you stuck a quarter in an electrical outlet. Castiel sat down and pulled his legs off the ground, crossing them adolescently in the chair.

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"Did anything awesome happen yesterday I should know about?"

"No."

"Did you have a good breakfast?"  
"I don't eat. I am an angel."

"You should," Dean sighed. He got that answer every day.

"I don't need to."

"The medicine could be harmful on an empty stomach," Dean pointed out, reaching under his desk and putting some crackers on the table.

Castiel looked at the snacks with confusion that only heightened with Dean pushed them towards him. The message was clear, but Castiel did not want to acknowledge it. It looked like just a handful from Dean's personal stash or something of the likeness. Castiel was still watching the food as if it would grow legs and start dancing when Dean—

"Eat," Dean instructed and jabbed a finger at the crackers.

"I don't—"

"You need to eat."

A look of defeat overcame Castiel's face and he reached for the crackers, picking one up with two fingers and sliding it between his lips. The room was silent other than the small sound of crunching. Castiel looked up at Dean after he'd finished the cracker.

"All right," Dean grinned, looking happy with himself. "Now, tell me about your brother, Balthazar."

Castiel changed positions in his chair as he thought, sitting up straighter and leaning on one arm. His mind was a ball of yarn slowly unraveling and he was the cat that chased the thread. There was nothing to weave the yarn into, but Castiel would find something soon enough.

"He's really funny even though he can be annoying sometimes. He used to look after me a lot. One time we watched the Titanic and he was groaning the entire time, saying how stupid the characters—"

_"You're telling me that chick is naked and the guy doesn't think to do anything other than painting? Bullshit."_

_ "Oh come on, they can both fit on that raft easily!"_

_ "OH, HER VOICE, SHUT UP! TURN OFF THIS MOVIE! THIS SONG IS KILLING ME!" _

"—were. Needless to say, we never finished the movie," Castiel chuckled.

Dean nodded, smiling at the way Castiel's eyes were so bright. "Where did you meet him?"

"We went to high school together. We weren't the best of friends in school but we met up at a restaurant we both happened to get a job at," Castiel said, a faraway look in his eyes.

Dean sat up straighter at this, narrowing his eyes because—

"Wait no," Castiel stopped himself. "I don't know what I'm saying."

Castiel looked as confused, if not more confused than Dean.

"We're brothers. That's obviously how…"

_"Stop stealing all my pencils!"_

_ "I like your pencils better, Cassie."_

_ "Then buy your own that are like it. You always bite the erasers."_

_ "I saw you do it once. Indirect kissing," Balthazar winked. Castiel rolled his eyes._

"…We met."

For the first time since Castiel had been with Dean, he saw Dean pull out a notepad and scribble something down. He yearned to see what was written, but it was too far away, unreachable. He felt uneasy because what had he said that prompted him to write something down? Dean must have noticed his discomfort since the next thing he said was

"Don't worry, you didn't do anything wrong. Just had to jot something down," he gave Castiel a grin, but somehow it seemed coated in plastic.

Castiel felt his hands shaking and

_Laughter, red hair, bubble bath—_

everything was telling him to _run_. His heart felt encaged. The kind of cage that constricted tighter and tighter and _tighter_. His heart was endangered of being punctured but it _never was and all he wanted was something to show for his pain but no one could ever see it why couldn't they see it?_

"Dean," Castiel said suddenly. "Dean, I-I'm _sorry_. She won't listen to me."

"What are you sorry for, Castiel?" Dean asked, voice rushed and urgent.

Castiel's eyes filled with tears and his breath was chopped into pieces. "I didn't mean to, I _didn't_."

"Tell me what you did."

Castiel cried harder, legs shaking and he fell to the ground and pulled his legs up to his chest in apparent self-defense.

"Don't hurt me anymore," he said in a voice that couldn't be glued back together.

_Everything was dark._

"I-I didn't mean it."

_"CASTIEL!"_

"I _promise_," he whispered. Dean rushed down to him.

_The door shook on its hinges as a fist pounded on it. Castiel cried from under his bed, sniffling and clutching a blanket to his chest. There were times he would feel like a child despite his age, but all he wanted was to go back in time. All he wanted. He would—_

"Cas, hey, it's okay," Dean said softly, pulling Castiel into his arms. He wasn't sure what else to do, and at the moment, Castiel looked just seven years old. He couldn't help himself; almost as if they were connected by a thread that was shortening with each passing second because all Dean wanted was to _hold him_. _Fix him_.

Castiel thrashed in his arms at first, trying to get out. His chest heaved as he pushed at Dean's shoulders, tears streaming down his face.

"It's okay, Cas, it's okay," Dean whispered and didn't let Castiel go.

Eventually Castiel seemed to realize where he was, his body falling relaxed despite the ceaseless rain of tears. Castiel fisted his hands in the back of Dean's shirt, hiding his face in the crook of his neck as if it was the safest place in the world. His heart beat faster for a different reason entirely.

"You have angel warding, right?" Castiel asked hoarsely, in a small voice that wasn't more than a millimeter high.

Dean smiled, running his fingers through Castiel's hair. He felt his body rock to the side and back, heart light and breezy like the spring breeze. And may flowers sprout up, and dance because, though it was autumn spring didn't seem too far away. His voice sounded even and soft when he spoke.

"Yeah."


	4. Chapter 4

The Day I Fly Away

Chapter IV

_Soundtrack: Who am I to Say by Hope_

"Good morning," Dean greeted him.

Castiel nodded in reply and sat down across from him. He counted the days they'd been together in this room, coming up with nearly a month. It'd been nearly a month and he'd not been referred to another doctor. He wondered if he would stay with Dean for the rest of his time, or if Dean would eventually refer him as well. He didn't want another doctor.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Dean smiled at him. Why did he smile?

_He's a cutie, you should get some of that_, Meg teased. Castiel fought the blush that crawled across his cheeks as he glared at her again. She held up her hands in mock surrender.

Castiel shrugged in reply to Dean's question.

"All right, we're going to be like that," Dean huffed. "Do you trust me?"

The question caught Castiel by surprise, having never been asked that before. The room felt different, perhaps colder. He was unsure whether he liked it or not. The answer to his question was seemingly obvious, and Castiel wondered if anyone did not.

"Yes."

Dean's smile stretched wider. "Then you can tell me anything."

Castiel cast his eyes down.

"Is there anything you've ever wanted to tell someone but you weren't able to?"

Castiel felt the air around them too heavy. He wrung his hands nervously, for there _was_ something. He'd never said it aloud, it was just always there. It was something he thought was as blatant as the sun each day, but he never knew if it was known. It might not have been.

"Yes," he said softly.

"Tell me, then."

There was a soft quietness between them before Castiel found his voice shaking, "I love her," he said, "I love her and I'm sorry."

Castiel felt his eyes burning and dug the palms of his hands into them. He didn't want to cry. He didn't deserve to cry. Nonetheless, his breath hitched and his hands were dampened, he hated himself for doing this.

The confession seemed not what Dean was expecting, and perhaps something twisting up in his chest. He pushed it back down and leaned across the table, feeling less welcome to put his hands on Castiel's but he did.

Castiel looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"If I was her, I'd probably already know."

Castiel's chest moved rapidly as his breath was cut into pieces.

"It's all right," Dean said softly, and Castiel wondered if this was in the job description. But the curiosity was too much and his lips asked without his heart's permission, "Why couldn't you tell her?"

His mind supplied it was probably because he was in this hospital.

But Castiel said, "She's dead."

* * *

It's something tangible and nothing safe , these homes that he's been shoved into because he's said not to be worth what he used to be worth. Castiel has found refuge in what shouldn't be and what should be, finding solitude and comfort in a simple board game, and most times, he forgets why he likes the game so much. He wonders if there was ever a reason to begin with. Or if this game was destined to be declared as _his_. Or if the game was never his in the first place.

The pawns stood valiantly, ready for battle, and though it made perfect sense that they were warriors, it made no sense at all. Castiel often forgot the point of the game other than saying _Sorry, go back to start_. Everything in the world matters just as leaving the salt out of a recipe will ruin the dish. Castiel plays by himself.

The world felt cruel and it felt unjust but he knew that's the way it always must be, for what kind of world would it be if everyone had what others had and what others did not? There would be no goals, not a thing to accomplish, there would be nothing at all that would make anything worth living and there wouldn't be anything to apologize for, but even if there was nothing to apologize for Castiel still felt regret gnawing away at everything that he was.

Castiel moved his pawn back to start and mumbled _sorry_ to no one but everyone in particular. Gabriel did not come play with him this time. Castiel felt alone. The world was an instrument with strings but no tones and Castiel had yet to create a chord.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed one of the cards and then moved a green pawn up three places. Castiel looked up, startled to find Dean sitting down in front of him. His green eyes seemed to leap out and poke into Castiel's. They glinted in amusement and Castiel realized Dean was probably waiting for him to move. He picked up a card.

They played for a while. It was something that wasn't anything to be explained.

"Do you do this with everyone?" Castiel couldn't help but asking.

Dean blinked his eyes, apparently taken aback by Castiel's speaking.

"What do you mean?"

Castiel gestured to the game board, unable to touch the pawns even though it was his turn and he knew he must apologize. His heart banged around on the bars of his ribcage just at the thought of it.

"You're…" the words got lost in everything that was between the two of them. The distance got greater and greater and it elongated until Castiel could no longer see Dean because he was nothing but a speck in his sight. "…Kind."

Bells jingled and violins serenaded in all that was Dean's laughter. "Gee, thanks," he sang, "I guess it's who I am."

Castiel didn't know why he felt the hurt settle like a rock in his body. Maybe he thought some part of him was special enough to receive something from Dean other than medicine. He forced himself to touch the burning red pawns, lit ablaze with fire unseen by Dean. Castiel was nothing but a project in Dean's eyes; a broken-down car that needed to be repaired.

Dean moved his pawn.

"Sorry," he said, and Castiel picked up his pawn to move it back to start. Dean laughed and shook his head. "No, no, not the game."

Castiel looked up as if he was electrocuted. How may one apologize had it not been in the game? Was it even possible or was it nothing but shards of a broken beer bottle, tossed aside because it'd been used and wasted and that's all it's ever been good for.

"I meant that I can see I upset you. Don't know how, though," Dean continued and pulled Castiel back by the reins.

"I'm not upset," words fell from his lips like a running river.

The room brightened and Castiel couldn't count he times his heart had stopped from the corners of Dean's lips being tugged upwards by strings.

"All right, all right, if you don't want to admit it," Dean held his hands up in surrender.

"There is nothing to admit," Castiel said a bit too defensively that only yanked the strings up higher.

"Everyone has something to admit."

A curtain of hush shoved itself between the two of them, wrinkled and dingy. Castiel shoved it aside.

"What do you have to admit?"

The strings were cut and Dean's smile faltered. Castiel felt remorse for asking the question if it meant the demolition of such a beautiful sunrise. He could not take the words back after they'd been said, however, and Dean had cast his eyes down like a baited pole in the ocean.

A nervous chuckled fell from his lips, "No one's ever asked me that before," he said, "But I figure fair is fair. I'll tell you something you tell me something."

Castiel nodded, though he was unsure of what he may have to say.

"All right…" Dean muttered, sitting back in the plastic-but-looks-like-metal chair. "Well, it's kind of a long story, but my brother and my dad tended to butt heads a lot. Long story short, Sammy wanted to go to college and Dad wanted him to stay at the house and help out in the family business—auto shop—and Sam left in the middle of the night. That was… Wow, nine years ago? But anyways, I told Sam I was fine with everything, but really… I don't know, man, I guess at the time I was angry with him for leaving us. Eventually, I went my own way, too, and ended up going to college and everything for my medical degree," Dean seemed to be finished, dampened like a rag, but he shook himself. "Well, that's it! Your turn."

Dean sat forward in anticipation.

Castiel found it spilling out of him without permission, without thought. It was something cold and hard, filling the crevices of rock with ice and splitting the stone in two.

He said, "I need to go back to the start, but I don't even remember where the beginning is. Where did I start, Dean? Was I born of love or a one-time fling? Was I a mistake? Am I the result of a broken condom or was I planned? Was I loved in my first years before everything turned wretched? I'm sorry. All I am is sorry for everything that I am and everything that I will be. I just want to go home, and the only thing that keeps me from it is that no one has accepted my apology. When they do, I'll be done. I-I'm just—" Castiel looked up desperately. "I'm _so sorry_."

Dean's eyes turned softer. There was something about Castiel's desperation that was just heart breaking. It was something that held onto his happiness by claws. His eyes were young. Dean wondered how long he'd been troubled by not being forgiven, but most of all, he wondered what he'd done.

"That will be the day I fly away."

"What?"

"When I can go home."

He pulled himself out of his thoughts to say, "Hey, Cas, you know whatever you've done, no matter how bad it looks, you'll always be forgiven. No one can screw up so badly that they don't deserve to be forgiven. Besides, you seem like a nice guy. I'm sure they've forgiven you already."

Something snapped and shattered inside Castiel.

Something crashed

and something fell to the floor, skinned and bleeding, eyes blind and falling from everything that is not to be said.

"I'm," his throat felt dry, "I'm—I'm forgiven?"

A sword flew between them but drew no blood.

The strings pulled Dean's lips into a smile.

"Yeah."

Castiel seemed in pieces, staring at that game board. He felt so empty, so vacant. It's as if everything was ripped out of him and dangled it in front of his eyes. He made no attempt to snatch it back. He didn't want it back. He looked past the debris blown from his being to Dean. The Sorry pieces were cold.

"For me?" Dean asked as he took the offered game piece from Castiel's hand.

Castiel nodded.

"Thanks."

* * *

Castiel always felt void of something important; as if someone was always taking something from him, and nothing could fill the empty hole that was blown inside him. And he reached to the sky and wished on the stars but they were gone. He was alone.

It wasn't something to be remedied because there wasn't anything to fix. It was a defective bed, springs rusted and old that always hurt whomever lay upon it. You didn't _fix_ the bed, you _bought a new_ one. Castiel found he was finished before he'd even started, and that was cowardice, that was defeat. He was shot once over and again, four times more than often. He held onto the bars that caged him. That's all he lived for.

And so he was to go home, having nothing tying him to this place. Castiel felt everything on his shoulders gone and _he could fly_. It may have been something twisted. Who knows? Who cares to know? Castiel was in his room, the old bed that probably four hundred other patients had laid upon before was beckoning.

He did not fight anymore, he set down the sword and fell upon the bed. Any warrior gets defeated, and Castiel was sure he was defeated long ago, he just couldn't give up with this wrong falling from the sky. He felt his arms limp at his sides and he listened to the sound of his breath.

That's when he reached to his bedside and took out his medication. _Two at night_, rang through his head. And he was forgiven.

Castiel opened one of the pill bottles.

He swallowed every pill.


	5. Chapter 5

**Soundtrack: All Of The Stars by Ed Sheeran** (PS: If you haven't caught on by now, listening to this song while reading might set the mood~)

_The Day I Fly Away_

_Chapter V_

The next thing Castiel remembered was white. A blurred light running in and out of his vision of black spots, slapping him in the face and he tossed his head to the side. As he blinked, he realized the room was not, in fact, white. It was a dingy beige color, looking like people were trying to make it look less dirty with (dirty) blue curtains and blankets. His fingers twitched on the sheet. The room was empty except for a nurse who was currently writing something down with her back to him.

His eyes flickered back to the heart monitor and followed the line up and down. Somehow it could occupy his mind. He didn't want to think about what had happened, remembering too little. He didn't want to worry. He remembered wanting to go home.

It tickled at his throat and at his heart, something suffocating and unable to be manifested. It was as if it did not truly exist—what it was, Castiel was unsure—but it was not unreal either. It ran through him like a blade and came out clean. His hands fisted in the sheets, wanting to leave, wanting to find the Sorry pawns. He was not in his regular clothes, not with his pockets, not with his game pieces. _Sorry, sorry, sorry,_ looped through his mind like how a thread looped through a sewing needle, but this needle just tore him apart at the seams.

The nurse finished whatever she was writing and turned around, looking as if she was going to walk out the door, but stopped when she saw Castiel.

"Oh," she said, her voice was higher than Castiel expected. "You're awake."

She turned in a flurry of red hair and pressed a button by a phone on the wall, saying something along the lines that Castiel had woken up. After that she turned around and smiled at him. It was a bit shaky, and he wondered if she was nervous. A nurse, nervous?

"I'm new," she answered his thoughts. "My name is Charlie."

"Castiel," said man provided. The nurse laughed. She probably knew that already.

"I hope I don't suck," she said, "I've never done this before. Well, I have a medical degree—my mom wanted me to, you know?—Got into some trouble though (illegal crap, just some innocent fun, but _they_ didn't see it that way) and the court noticed it and put me on community service here and—Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm babbling. I do that when I get nervous. Like when—"

Charlie cut herself off, belatedly seeing Castiel's amused smile. Her cheeks tinted a lighter shade of red than her hair, and she looked like she wanted to say something to drop Castiel's smile (perhaps because of embarrassment). Before she could do anything, however, the door opened.

Castiel was confused to see Dean walk in, the door closed more forcefully than it had opened. His face was contorted into something akin to anger, but not _really_ anger. It made Castiel's heart leap in fear at the thought—the heart monitor spiked—but somehow he didn't think Dean would hurt him. Charlie's eyes flickered back and forth between them.

"Boyfriend?" she said.

Both Castiel and Dean turned to her with wide eyes, Castiel blushing softly as he shook his head violently. _But you wouldn't really mind would you?_ Meg said, and somehow she sounded genuine. The heart monitor beeped a fraction of a second faster.

"_Patient_," Dean enunciated.

Charlie raised her eyes at both of their defensiveness, but raised her hands as if to say _Whoa, calm down_, and turned away from them. "I'll leave you alone, then," she said with something tinkling around in her voice. They didn't really ponder it, though, and she left.

"You owe me a damn good explanation," Dean's voice was hard and still, laced with anger and that something he couldn't recognize on his face before.

He received a blank face in return; Castiel wasn't sure what he was talking about.

Dean's eyes seemed darker, "Why a night nurse found you _unconscious_ on the floor of your room, surrounded by a pool of vomit, and _this_."

Dean threw an empty medicine capsule at him, the anger coming out more than the second-unidentifiable-emotion. It hit a glass of water to the right of Castiel's head, and it fell over on its side, rolling off the edge of the table. It landed with a _crash_ that harmonized to what Dean was saying.

"Because it _sounds_ like a friggin' suicide attempt."

Castiel didn't know what to say. To be put in that way, he supposed it made sense, but he just wanted to go home. He was forgiven now, so he had nothing else that tied him to this world. The strings that pulled him up and in every direction, that ripped his limbs from his body as they said _go left, no go right_. Castiel couldn't handle it. He wondered if others were able to live in homes of cold concrete, lighting the fireplace each night and somehow decided that life was worth the flame, worth the fire, worth the damage of it all.

"I want to go home," Castiel said softly.

Dean's face changed, seeming like he had remembered the conversation they had last. "Fuck, Cas, I didn't—I didn't say that for you to—" he ran a hand over his face, his gaze falling to the ground as if the tiles were interesting.

"My brothers are still up there, in Heaven," Castiel said in such a small voice. "I hear them, but I do not always see them. I feel—I just feel so alone and I want to go back—"

"You have me, don't you?" Dean said, "You're not completely alone."

Castiel looked confused, as if that was the last thing he expected Dean to say.

"Next time you feel so alone you want to—"his throat seemed to close. It wouldn't allow the words out. "Do… this," he substituted, "Just come to my office. All right? If I see you in here _one more time_—"

But the words seemed to fly off there, and somehow it seemed like a complete incomplete sentence. And still Castiel, turned his head, unable to look at Dean. He felt ashamed to be caught like this, but he didn't necessarily regret what he had done. If anything, he regretted his body's reaction to the overdose. Maybe he just needed more pills next time?

"What are you thinking about?" somehow Dean's voice was cold and knowing.

"Nothing," Castiel insisted.

Dean looked as if he didn't believe him. It hurt more than it should have, even though he had a reason for it. And was right to.

"Your medicine is going to be administered by a nurse now," he said, "Daily and only the _proper dose_."

Dean's heart twisted around when he saw Castiel's face fall.

"You look at me!" he said, anger woven in and out of his voice—or was that fear? Castiel noticed it now. It was fear, concern, anger. Castiel's eyes lifted to Dean's. The heart monitor leaped a bit faster, and Castiel blamed it on the nerves, but he wasn't sure that was entirely true.

"You will NEVER try something like this. _Ever again_."

Castiel nodded dumbly.

Dean sighed, shifting in his chair. Castiel belatedly realized he had sat down sometime during the conversation. His hands folded together between his knees and the look of defeat overcame his features. Never had Castiel imagined his leaving would affect anyone. His chest jumped at the thought that Dean might actually care about him.

"So you're on anti-depressants now," Dean's voice was tired.

"But I'm not—"

"You don't get a say!" Dean said in a voice that was just under shouting. "Due to that _really stupid_ stunt, you're marked down as suicidal."

Castiel looked the other way. Something was placed on the table beside him, next to the puddle of water and above the shards of glass. He turned to look and Dean had placed a small plastic cup there with two pills in it.

"You know how to count, right? That's _two_," he said harshly and left the room.

As the door opened Castiel saw Charlie standing to the side, poking her head in the room, obviously the broken glass and shouting had grabbed her attention.

He chose to ignore her until she said, "Trouble in paradise?"

The heart monitor spiked.

"We're not dating!"

* * *

Dean ran a hand through his hair as he tried to cool down. Something just struck a nerve with him about Castiel. He wasn't like anyone he'd ever met, he was… Dean refused to dwell on it long. He had walked into the staff room and poured himself some coffee. He didn't know how early it was, maybe five, and he didn't get up that early for _anyone_. Except today, but it was something important. Dean brushed it off.

"Has he ever had any visitors?" Dean asked the receptionist, Castiel's words of feeling lonely knocking around his skull. "Castiel Novak, I mean."

The receptionist glanced up at him and flipped through some papers and nodded. "Records say yes," she said, "Not for some time, though. Says a man visited him twice a week for a month and then just stopped."

Dean furrowed his brow. Something ripped away at his curiosity, and he didn't know why. He had sixteen other patients. He didn't feel compelled to check up on them nearly as much as he did Cas. He leaned over the receptionist's shoulder, gazing down at the visitor list.

**NAME: Balthazar Tennyson**

**DATE: 5/11/2013**

**RELATION: Family / Friend**

The name continued down to 6/03/2013 and then stopped appearing. It was strange, Dean thought, but not unheard of. Normally people stopped visiting with elderly people or people with memory loss. Dean though it was a sad thing to be stuck somewhere, abandoned by whoever you loved. It was unprofessional, and almost an obsession, and still, Dean couldn't help himself but wonder.

Did Castiel ever love before?

_I love her and I'm sorry._

He felt his heart bang on its cage, and he would deny it was ever jealousy he felt.

* * *

_May 11__th__, 2013_

_ "Castiel, you have a visitor."_

_ Castiel followed the nurse through the walls that confined him so. It was all so unfamiliar, the tiles that tried to trip him, the lights that tried to blind him, the patients that he was sure was more crazy than he was. He wasn't even sure why he was here, Balthazar had told him about it, and he supposed it made sense. Castiel certainly looked crazy, didn't he?_

_ The walk was silent, and Castiel was guided through the halls and into the visiting room with chairs scattered seemingly randomly. There were tables with board games, Checkers, Chess, Scrabble, Sorry, etc. His eyes floated over everything as if he was calculating everything carefully. The windows never opened. He looked wistfully to the sunlight streaming in from the glass._

_ Balthazar gave him a wave and Castiel allowed himself to smile. He sat across from him. The table between them had a game of Sorry, the game pieces scattered and cards bent and sticking up in the oddest ways as if someone had been playing and never put anything up. Castiel overlooked the game, looking onto the man in front of him. _

_ "How's it going?" his friend asked, "Getting any better?"_

_ "It's mostly just therapy. They don't think I have any mental illness. You know, what I told you… And what happened at the restaurant…"_

_ Balthazar's eyes darkened and he said, "It's wrong."_

_ That's all that needed to be said. The message was clear. Balthazar picked up the Sorry cards just for something to do other than sit in the thick atmosphere. He shuffled the deck, sorting them out so that they all faced the same way and put them back on the table. Castiel watched him curiously and decided to help out, putting the pawns back in their respective corners. He picked up a yellow pawn first (it was closest) and turned it over in his hand. He put it back._

_ "They got you on any medication?"_

_ "No," Castiel sighed. He felt so silly like this; nothing was wrong with him. _

_ "I told Meg about this whole—"  
"Why would you tell _her_?" Castiel asked aghast. _

_ "Well, you know she—"_

_ "Don't say it," although Castiel's eyes dared him to._

_ "You guys broke up what? Half a year ago? She probably still cares about you. If she saw you like I saw y—"_

_ "Stop talking about me like I'm insane! I don't want your pity!" Castiel blurted. "Nothing's wrong with me! I just—I just remembered something—!"_

_ "Cas—"_

_ Castiel stood up and ran his hands through his hair. In any figurative sense, he ripped it out. God, what he would do to just disappear, just rip his soul from his body and throw it to the sky. He felt so stupid, so pitiful here in this home for the incompetent. And everything that used to haunt him in the cruelest of ways were now proving true, and Castiel couldn't take it._

_ Everything that was once dangled over his head, taunting him and laughing maniacally, it was all real and it was here. Castiel left the visitors room, feeling his heart ablaze and racing to the ends of the earth. He longed for something to jump off of, not of fatal inclination, but simply to feel the air rush through him, surge through him. He wanted to fly, oh God, why could he not fly?_

_ Castiel locked himself in his room and skipped dinner and breakfast and lunch the next day. He felt so tormented, so twisted in the hands of those who didn't deserve to touch something so beautiful. But no talons were sharp enough, kill him, shred him, bleed him out and wring him dry because apparently that's what he deserves. The hands that once held him now choke him. He fisted his hands in the sheets and he dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He welcomed the sting. He deserved whatever came to him, for he was ignorant and he was oblivious. He was evil and he was undeserving of anything, undeserving of life._

_ And oh, God, was he sorry for what he had done seven years ago._

* * *

**A/N: I hope you liked ittt! I totally made up a last name for Balthazar yeah... Also: I'm going to be out of town for two weeks, so I won't be able to update until at least July 5th... Sorryyyyy Just a heads up! Thanks for reading and I love getting reviews :3**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: OKAY So actually I leave for this music camp thingy (I play cello hurrayyy) on Sunday, and this big wave of inspiration was just BAM and thus a chapter was born. XDD So yeah! I hope you like it and stuff :3 It was fun writing a bit a crazy!Cas but also made me sad at the same time. So if I have a huge inspiration wave again I'll update but if not before Sunday, next update will be at least July 5th! Hope you like it~ Remember to review because I love reviews~**

**Soundtrack: In My Veins by Andrew Belle**

_The Day I Fly Away_

_Chapter VI_

"Hey, Cas, time for your meds," Charlie said, bringing in a plate with two plastic cups, each having pills in them. There was a glass of juice next to them.

Castiel took them grimly, squinting at the medicine for a second. He looked back up at Charlie curiously and then back at the pills. They were different, not unfamiliar, but different.

"These are mine?" he said.

Charlie pulled out a paper and her eyes scanned down it before she nodded. "Paper says 'yep.'"

Castiel shrugged. Maybe they changed it since his "suicide attempt." Charlie left soon after that, and Castiel saw her look back at the list before the door closed. He lay back on his bed, it wasn't uncomfortable, so he couldn't complain, but he felt too accustomed to it. The same way one might get used to a prison cell. It felt like home in a figurative sense. Home was nice. The world seemed to fly away from him as he closed his eyes and he smiled.

Wow, this was new. Or not really, was it? Cassie (Haha, _Cassie_) didn't care. The room felt spinning.

His heart beat faster, his eyes flicking over the room, he started to laugh to himself. It all looked so pretty, what a beautiful world the room could become. The doors were harder. The walls were thicker, but oh look at the _colors_. Haha, Castiel ripped the sheets off of his body. It was too hot. Too hot. His heart was fast. Quickly? No, that was an adverb. But it _sounded_ better. His heart was quickly. See? Doesn't that sound prettier? Haha, Yes? No wait—

Bees were flying around and he giggled to himself. How much time had passed? He didn't know why he was so upset before. Was he upset? Of course not, if he felt so high and sweet right now, how could he have been? He didn't need to die to fly, oh he just needed _this_. Castiel rolled off the bed and stripped off the rest of his clothes. They were _hot_. Hotly. That's another adverb. But it sounds prettier.

"Hotly, hotly," Castiel muttered and raked his fingers through his hair. His hands came back _glittered_. Woah—wait. Glittery. And that was even a grammatically right sentence! His hands were _glittery_. Castiel liked adverbs.

No, wait, he hated them. Castiel let out a shout and ripped one of his sheets. He felt on fire. Get whatever this was _out_ of him. He was burning, burning, burning, he scratched—_burning_—at his body. His eyes were pricked with tears and he shouted and shouted and _screamed_. He hated this. Hated everything. Hated _all of this_. Castiel grabbed one of the tables by his bedside and pulled and pulled and _pulled_. What was he even trying to do?

He stopped. He started scratching his arms, digging his nails into his forearm just to get it to _stop_—

"Castiel it's time for—CAS!" Charlie ran in, aghast at what he was doing. "What the hell, man?!" she shouted and grabbed one of the sheets and covered him with it before she took his hands in hers.

"GET IT OUT OF ME!" Castiel screamed and writhed in her arms. "Out, out, _out_, OUT! HOTLY OUT TOO HOTLY HOT NO!"

"What are you saying?!"

Charlie seemed to hesitate as she let go of him to call for help.

"I don't like this job," she whispered to herself as she watched Castiel break out in tears, starting to scratch himself again.

Doctors rushed in a few minutes later, one injecting him with a tranquilizer. Charlie just caught Castiel's tear-streaked face, his eyes begging her for something. Her heart twisted around in her chest as his eyes flickered out, dulled and then hid away behind his eyelids. She held a hand over her mouth to keep from making any noises. She had never seen anything like that before and fear clawed away at her heart and her body. It killed her to see someone as bright as Castiel had been the day before in the hospital bed, joking and looking so love-struck—it _killed_ _her_ to see him pulled over the shoulder of a man and carried out of the room to the hospital wing like some kind of animal.

She exited the room on shaking legs, feeling she should probably tell his boyfriend (come on, no two _friends_ looks at each other like that) what had happened. When she got to his office, there was another patient sitting across from him.

"What makes you—" he stopped midsentence and his gaze stopped on Charlie.

She had no idea what she must have looked like, but she was probably crying and looked pathetic. Her heart was still racing. Dean's eyes asked her a million questions.

"Cas," she choked out, which she supposed answered most of them.

"What?" he demanded, standing, seeming to completely forget the other patient. "What happened?" Dean's face paled. It was _white_, "Is he—Did he—"

"No!" she interrupted. "He didn't… Try again. He just—I came in and he was—He was scratching himself and there was _blood_ and he was _screaming_ and I just—They freaking _carried him over their shoulder_—"

"I'm going to see him," Dean said quickly and there was an absent invitation for her to come along hiding somewhere inside it. "I—Uh," he turned back to the patient, belatedly realizing he just completely ignored him. "There's only, like, twelve minutes left, you can just go early." It wasn't the first time he had let a patient go early.

He didn't give the patient time to reply before he raced out the door and to the hospital wing. He heard scurrying footsteps behind him and assumed it was Charlie. He'd seen breakdowns before—he'd even seen Castiel break down—yet he couldn't deny the concern and worry that bit away at all that he was, leaving him nothing but bones. He saw this every day. Not literally. Why did the hospital wing have to be so _far away_? He cursed the design of the building and rushed into an elevator and smashed in the fourth floor. Charlie just barely caught the door.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Charlie shrugged. "You're worried about your boyfriend. I don't mind."

"He's not my boyfriend! He's my _patient_!" Dean said louder than he anticipated.

"Awfully defensive about it."

"I'm not defensive!"

Charlie didn't reply but her expression just screamed, "Yeah right."

He and Cas weren't in any way dating. They didn't hold hands or talk to each other on the phone until three in the morning, they didn't tease each other for getting food on their face and then pick it off with their finger and then eat it themselves. They didn't kiss or go to the beach together or—Great now he's thinking about it. He blames Charlie.

Dean made a point of walking a foot in front of her when the elevator opened. Since Cas probably got there recently, Dean checked the first couple rooms, finding him quickly. He was asleep when he got there, and Dean's heart stopped. He looked like an _angel_, despite the irony of the sentence. His head, tilted to the side and his lips slightly parted. Dean's fingers twitched at his side.

"Still not his boyfriend?" Charlie scoffed behind him.

Dean glared at her and walked in the room. He stopped by his side, running his hand down Castiel's bandaged arm. He started to pick at it before he resolved to take it off. He couldn't describe the burning need that demanded to see what Castiel did to himself.

"What are you doing?" Charlie peeked over his shoulder.

"I'll put it back, I just want to see," he muttered and took the bandage off.

His eyes were sad as they trailed down the scratches that screamed scarlet. Some marks were crescent-shaped gashes and others were just streaks of red. When blood started to climb out of one of the scratches again, Dean replaced the bandage. His fingers lingered longer than would have been deemed normal and then fell from his arm.

"What happened?" he asked again.

Charlie sighed. "I just—I just came in the morning, gave him his medicine and then left. I came back an hour later when it was time for breakfast and found him naked and scratching himself, screaming to get something out of him and that it was hot—" Charlie stopped herself, narrowing her eyes in thought. "Wait," she said softly as she remembered, "He asked me if the medicine was his. Like he didn't think it was."

Dean looked up at her, "What did you give him?"

"It was—Uh, I don't know. I just read the paper and put the stuff on the tray and give it to the patients."

Dean dragged a hand down his face and let out a long breath. He seemed to be contemplating something for a moment, "I'll talk to the person in charge of the medicine shit," he mumbled.

Charlie nodded.

Just then, Castiel's eyes fluttered open much like butterfly wings. The world blurred into something more abstract, the medicine still thick in his veins. A Cheshire smile stretched into his face and he tilted his head up. Beautiful world. Beautifully. It all felt so slow. So dense. He flexed his fingers and seemed fascinated that he was able to move them. Bees.

"Cas, how ya feeling?" a voice asked him. It was low.

Castiel looked but he did not see, and he laughed. "Feel feely."

Giggle because it's silly or funny, same word right? Cassie didn't care—CASSIE AGAIN!—He laughed at that, too, because it was funny. Funny was an adverb. It wasn't cold in the room, but Castiel wanted to feel cold. No he didn't, you shut up—who was he talking? Oh, no one. Castiel giggled again because he did silly things. Being cold was coldly and being hot would be _too_ hotly. Hehe. Hotly. Coldy. _You're hotly and you're coldly, you're yes-y and you're no-y_, see, you can make _anything_ an adverb!

"Cas?" the same voice asked again.

Castiel didn't reply this time, he flopped over on the bed and looked through the wall. It wasn't _really_ there, it was just pretending to be. His hand touched the wall. It made him sad. The wall was cold. He sighed and stuffed his face into his pillow and stayed like that until he had to breathe. Breathing was so boring. Did bees breathe? Castiel bet they didn't, they were interesting. Would he be interesting if he didn't breathe like the bees?

"Cas, look at me," the voice said. It sounded hurt. Why was it hurt? Did bees sting it? Beeeeeeeeeeees! Castiel laughed and dragged his eyes up to meet the blocky-thing's-face-looking-thing but it wasn't _really_ a face, it was just pretending to be. Castiel bet it breathed.

"I'm Dean," the blocky-thing said.

Castiel laughed and his head wobbled on his body as he looked away in seemingly no recognition at all. There was another block in the room, and Castiel wondered why it wasn't speaking. Maybe it was a bee? A BEE?

"Are you a bee?" Castiel sat up quickly, feeling the room spin just a little bit. He was on his hands and knees now, on the bed. He reached a hand out to the other block. It was a bee wasn't it? Castiel loved bees. He didn't remember why, but did he need a reason? It was a BEE.

"I-I'm not a bee," Other-Block said. It sounded sad. It sounded scared. It definitely wasn't a bee then. Bees were warriors. They had swords and everything and CCHHHHHSSHHH! THEY SLASHED AWAY AT EVERYTHING OH MY GOD!

Castiel laughed and fell onto his back on the bed. He saw Other-Block run out of the room. Blocky-Thing-One was still standing there. It kind of looked familiar. OH THAT ONE WAS DEFINITELY A BEE WASN'T IT?! Castiel laughed at himself. He was so stupid. He couldn't believe he never recognized this bee, he _loved_ bees.

"So _you're_ the bee," Castiel threw his bandaged arm at Blocky-Thing-But-Was-Really-A-Bee and grinned sloppily.

Bee didn't even reply! It just flew out of the room _really_ fast.

* * *

"I want to know what the fuck they gave him," Dean spat to Charlie as he caught up with her.

Charlie nodded mutely, biting her lip. She never wanted to witness something so degrading and destructive ever again. She'd have to keep administering his medicine, but if this happened again, jail or not, she was _quitting_. Her heart couldn't handle things like this.

Dean pushed the door open that had **STAFF ONLY** printed on the front. He always hated coming in here. It smelled horrible; he would describe it if only he could. He walked up to the lady putting some medicine in a cabinet with **Jody Mills** on her nametag. He leaned on the countertop as he waited for her to finish, not wanting to interrupt despite the ants that were crawling under his skin.

"Can I help you?" Jody put him out of his misery.

"Ah, yes," he said in a breathy tone. "I was wondering what was medicine was administered to Castiel Novak this morning?"

"Alrighty," she proclaimed and put up a last bottle and closed the glass door to the cabinet. She proceeded to step down from a three-step ladder and go to her desk. She opened one of the slide-out drawers and filtered through the names until she came to _N_ and then _Novak_. She pulled out a folder and threw it on top her desk.

"There we go," she nodded to it.

Dean opened it, realizing belatedly that perhaps Jody was going to go through it instead of him, but she didn't appear to be stopping him. There were eleven papers, all of which were signed by a different doctor and each had a diagnosis and medicine listed along with other things. The one on top was most recent and the one on the bottom was from when Castiel was first admitted.

Dean curiously looked at the bottom paper.

**POST-STRESS-TRAUMA **

**SEVERE CHILD ABUSE**

"That's not from this morning," Jody picked the top paper and covered up the bottom one.

Dean's hands burned as he wanted to look back at the first paper, but he couldn't look where he obviously wasn't allowed. Doctors were supposed to make their own conclusion on a patient, and this way there were supposed to be better results. Dean damned the rule to Hell.

Nonetheless, his eyes shot down the paper. Castiel was assigned to take a pill to keep his anxiety down (something Dean had administered as well) and also a hallucinative drug. _What the hell?_ Dean thought and turned the paper over. Hallucinative drugs were normally given to patients with severe depression (Dean called it happy juice), and Castiel was _not_ depressed. His interests in suicide weren't because he hated life, he just wished for a different kind. The paper was signed by a Doctor Zachariah.

"What the hell? Where's mine?"

"That isn't it?" Jody took the paper from his hands. Much to Dean's disdain she happened to grab _both_ papers. "Huh, I guess yours got lost. This is from June third, 2013. Fill out another for me."

The date sounded familiar.

Dean grabbed a pen and started to mark in the medicine he wanted Castiel to take. The papers were returned to the folder and Jody loomed over it as she waited for Dean to finish filling in the form, and he did a few minutes later, and handed it back to her. He casted the folder a regretful look and watched it sink into the desk again. He gave Jody a small wave and turned to walk out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Soundrack: Jenny by Lily Seven (Ballad Version)**

_The Day I Fly Away_

_Chapter VII_

_ May 20__th__, 2013_

_ It became something unwritten for Balthazar to visit Castiel weekly, sometimes more than once a week. It was like a string, a bond, pulling them tighter and tighter. Only Balthazar worried over the tension. Castiel ignored it. Discordant was the chime of the bell when Balthazar entered; there was something chilling about it. For a moment, he could pretend he was simply visiting a friend at a hotel or a gathering until a nice woman at a desk asked his name, the name of the person he was visiting, and his relation to said person._

_ It became easier and easier for Balthazar to visit Castiel weekly, last week more than weekly. Even he got used to the shrill, excited yells of the more-insane patients. He sat down on one of the chairs, the one by the Sorry board. Once he sat a seat to the left of it, and Castiel sat right in front of it, staring through the empty air until Balthazar moved over. Every visit felt different. Every visit felt colder, this distance greatening and growing. There were times when Balthazar wanted to hit Castiel to see if it would gain a reaction. Sometimes Castiel's eyes were glassy._

_ He gave a half-wave and Castiel looked past it. He might as well not have moved at all._

_ "Hey, Cas," Balthazar said hesitantly._

_ Castiel blinked a few times before he stopped looking through Balthazar and looked at him._

_ "Hello," he said placidly._

_ An invisible nurse came and told them to be quiet, and they did. Only the single word felt slow like dripping syrup. It hurt him, somehow in the way he said it, it hurt him. _

_ "I have a new doctor."_

_ "Another?" _

_ It was scripted._

_ "Doctor Uriel."_

_ "Do you like him?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ Balthazar nodded and the director called "CUT!"_

_ "He said I'm depressed," Castiel said, continuing without any lines._

_ Balthazar sat up, "What?" he said. Castiel was one to do things with energy. Perhaps not with a smile, but he did not seem upset doing chores or even seem hateful to anyone or himself. Balthazar would say that Castiel would be the last person he would believe to be depressed, only it is that those are always the most. He rewrote his line, "Do you agree?"_

_ To his disbelief, Castiel nodded. _

_ "I'm sad," he said._

_ Balthazar felt something die inside him then, and he replied, "Do you want to talk about it?"_

_ Castiel answered with the silence between them and the nurse hushed them again. The thread was cut and it snapped back and slapped Balthazar in the face. He felt like he was bleeding, but he wasn't. He felt something burning up inside him, wanting to scream, wanting to shake him, wanting to do something._

_ But then Castiel spoke._

_ "I've thought a lot," he said softly, "About Meg."_

_ Balthazar's face changed. A hint of understanding, pity. "Oh," he said lamely, "_oh_," he repeated again in his mind. Once more over again. _

_ Castiel nodded and placed a Sorry pawn on the game board. Balthazar's eyes followed the game piece but he made no move to play along. He watched silently. Everything was too much; everything was dragging a massive boulder up a mountain; everything was pulling an air balloon underwater, and nothing was wanting to be put right. _

_ "You said you told her I was here," Castiel's voice broke as if it wasn't already._

_ Balthazar nodded, lips pursed and his eyes dropped beneath the floor._

_ "Did she say anything?" his words were hopeful, oh they were hopeful, they were bright and they reached up for nothing in sight. If dreams are so far, if aspirations are too far, why does he bother to raise his arms for a lost cause? _

_ Balthazar started, "She…" said he, and a pause, "I knocked on her door. There wasn't an answer. I told her it was about you and… I think I heard feet shuffle, like she came closer to the door. I banged again, and she still wouldn't open it, so I told her through the door that you were hurt and in here. Cas, she opened the door."_

_ Castiel's eyes snapped up, wide, wistful. "What?" he said breathlessly, "Really? What did she look like? Did she look different? Did she _say_ anything? I bet she's still beautiful."_

_ "At first, her lips moved but all I heard was weird croaking noises," Balthazar said softly. "I think she was trying to say something. She coughed a few times, seemed to regain her voice, but then looked at me and closed the door again."_

_ Castiel clutched each syllable earnestly, greedily. He leaned forward and for once Balthazar saw a spark of what used to be. Something dropped like a penny in a well inside him. Things were far too dark in this cave to ever find fire, to find light. It was too deep to dig Castiel out of this. He felt regret eating away for ever mentioning this place._

_ "She looked horrible," Balthazar blurted unintentionally. "Her hair was uncombed and her eyes were dead," _like yours_, he added in his mind, "It was like looking at a zombie."_

_ "She's beautiful," Castiel said, more as an addition than a protest._

_ "Castiel," Balthazar said strongly. It almost made Castiel look at him. "It wasn't your fault. You do know that right?"_

_ "IT WAS!" Castiel shouted and tears fell from his eyes like an unexpected rain shower. "I should have noticed sooner! I shouldn't have told her to go home! I should have listened to her! I shouldn't have tried to look at everything from her parents' view! I should have thought more of HER! I SHOULD—"_

_ "CASTIEL!" Balthazar interrupted and a nurse he could actually see rushed over._

_ "Is there a problem?" she asked hastily, grabbing Balthazar's arm._

_ "No," Balthazar said quickly, but by the time he turned back to Castiel, all he saw was the back of his head moving behind a door._

* * *

The next time Dean saw Castiel was in his office for a therapy session. The air weighed two-thousand tons and nothing could keep it from suffocating Dean. Something tugged at a chain around his neck, pulling him this way, pulling him that way, because he knew what he would do as a doctor, but something kept him from it. Because when Castiel came in the room he felt his voice leave him without as much as a farewell song.

There was something graceful about the way Castiel sat down, something beautiful about the way his eyes flickered around the room, and something breathtaking when his eyes met Dean's. _How are you? _flew through the air silently. Dean rolled back his chair absentmindedly, to relax or to try to prevent himself from being too close, he had no idea, and he would deny the thought that he ever wanted to be closer.

Castiel was quiet, seeming not to want to bring up the previous day if Dean wasn't going to. Dean's chair rolled forward again of its own volition; he placed his arms on the table. He didn't see Castiel talk to his brothers or sisters as often anymore, though it did happen occasionally. Castiel fidgeted and his eyes darted around as if someone had said something; a soft red dusted over his cheeks. He wished he knew what was said to make Castiel look like that.

He flicked the thought away as if it was a fly on his wrist.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said first. It was ages since he'd heard Castiel speak; it was an oasis.

"Hey, Cas," Dean lifted his hand in a wave.

Unspoken questions swam between them, of why Dean didn't appear to be starting a let's-fix-you conversation, of why Dean wasn't talking at all, but Dean indulged himself in staring at Castiel. He couldn't stop himself, so until Castiel did something about it, he wasn't going to look away.

A contest was declared and Castiel's eyes narrowed slightly as he stared back at Dean. Dean was taken aback, but did not make any move to avert his eyes. Castiel's eyes were so _blue_ as if every ocean of the world was concealed inside them. The room was adorned with all that Castiel was, having no other decoration as beautiful. Dean could feel his pulse rising, his thoughts racing, his hands twitching, itching to touch him.

That was when Dean forced himself to look away. This was his _patient_. His eyes dropped down to Castiel's lips, and he swallowed, they dropped down further and landed on the desktop. He wanted to hit himself for beginning to think of Castiel in this way. Castiel was not here of his own will. Dean had no idea if behind closed doors there was the conversation: _"Do you like your doctor?" "No."_

Something bubbled up inside him and Dean felt something flare then die. It was defeat because there was just no way for what his mind fabricated to be anything close to a reality. His body resorted to anger, his heart resorted to hurt, and still it felt unjust to punish Castiel for being perfect. He looked up again and Castiel was still looking at him, seemingly curious. Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"So, uh," he started softly, "You wanna talk about anything?"

"No."

"We have to do _something_ for the next—" Dean glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes?" That time went _fast_. It was stolen from him.

Castiel was quiet, though.

"You said you loved someone once," Dean's lips said sinfully against his mind's will.

Castiel nodded slowly.

"What was her name?"

Castiel didn't reply immediately. It was a bit unprofessional to ask Castiel of these things, wasn't it? _No, you're his doctor. This is part of learning more of his problem, _his mind provided, and still it didn't seem right. It almost seemed painful for Castiel to remember a name.

"Meg," he said softly.

Dean felt a void in his body. "Tell me about her."

Castiel smiled.

"She was beautiful," said he, "She was such a pain in the ass sometimes, but she was so sweet other times. I hated her at first, you know."

Dean nodded emptily, prompting him to continue.

"The first time I started liking her was when we got paired together for a history assignment. She was so stupid and mean and made me do the entire thing but insisted on being with me while I did it. She was horrible. I don't know how I liked her," Castiel shook his head. "It's just… Weird. She would get this spark in her eye and she would act like she owned the world—I don't know. She kissed me and it all took off from there. It's like we boarded this plane without knowing the destination and we didn't even care."

Castiel's voice died away and Dean felt himself listening more closely than he would have liked to admit. His heart asked questions his mind wouldn't allow.

"What happened?" he asked softly, _what are you sorry for?_ lay unspoken on the table.

Castiel shrugged. "The plane crashed."

* * *

It was evening, the same kind of evening that was cold and rainy. It was as if someone had shaken up the world like a snowglobe. A faceless woman approached the front desk precariously, hair dripping with rainwater and her shoulders shivering violently. She bit her lips and played with the hem of her shirt, eyes darting around quickly. Her feet carried her slowly, shakily. She was a few feet from the desk when the receptionist called to her.

"Ma'am? May I help you?"

The woman's face flashed white for a moment as if the worker had frightened her. She walked a bit closer.

"Uh," she stuttered, "I-I'm here to visit someone."

"Visiting hours are from eight AM to two PM. You'll have to come back tomorrow. I can tell them you stopped by though. What's his or her name?" It ran out of her mouth as if someone had just played a recording: rehearsed and even-toned.

"No," the woman's hair slapped against her cheek as she spun around. "Sorry. It's fine. I'll go. Sorry."

Before the receptionist could say anything more the bell jingled as the woman ran quickly out the door. It was eerie, how quiet it was now. The receptionist ran a hand through her hair, mumbling something about how she was working too late. She told herself to forget the strange woman that had mumbled another apology just before the door shut.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Ready for Destiel? ME TOO :D_

**Soundtrack: Gotta Have You by The Weepies**

_The Day I Fly Away_

_Chapter VIII_

_ "Dean," Castiel said from the doorframe of Dean's office._

_ Dean motioned for him to come in. It was after Dean's last therapy session, during the time Castiel should be at dinner. Castiel walked in slowly, shutting the door behind him. The door locked. In the way he moved, every step seemed to be in slow motion. His eyes never strayed away from Dean's. There was intensity, there was something deeper. Dean's chair rolled back on the wheels so that they no longer had the barrier of the desk. The silence between them was deafening, filled with unspoken promises and unspoken requests and desires. Castiel was suddenly close, fitting himself on Dean's lap with his arms around his neck._

_ "Dean," he said in that same low tone that was driving him crazy. "Dean, Dean, Dean."_

_ "Cas… What..?" Dean's voice was soft and carried itself without strength. _

_ It seemed like an eternity before Castiel bent his head down a few inches and their lips brushed softly. The arms around Dean's neck tightened as an anchor and Castiel kissed him with more confidence. It was passionate and desperate; Castiel bit at Dean's lower lips softly, kissing rougher. _

_ "Dean," Castiel repeated, mumbling into Dean's mouth. "Dean."_

_ Dean found Castiel's hands everywhere at once, running down his chest, tugging at his hair, grabbing his thighs. Dean gasped and tried to say something, but no sound could come out. He heard Castiel chanting his name like it was a prayer or spell, and Dean was definitely enchanted. Thoughts were too busy, too messy. They were nothing. _

_ "Dean. Want you. Need you," Castiel said roughly and started to rock his hips against Dean's. _

_ Dean's head slung back and he fisted his hands on the back of Castiel's shirt before Castiel guided his hands over his head and dropped the shirt on the floor. Castiel's lips took advantage and started kissing Dean's exposed neck, leaving Dean's hands to roam his bare back. "Love you. Not her. Need you," Castiel spoke only in fragments. He left gentle licks and rough bites; he tugged at the hem of Dean's trousers—_

Dean awoke startled, gasping and sitting up quickly in his bed. His fingers grasped at air and then moved over his neck. He closed his eyes again, trying to calm himself down. His chest heaved and he rolled over on the bed. He groaned into the pillows, trying to ignore the tightness in his pants. He would have hit his head on the pillow had they not been so soft. His hands clutched the sheets and his eyes closed tighter, tighter; maybe if they were closed tight enough he could forget the images. Or the way Cas' lips felt on hi—

Dean groaned again, stood up, and ran to the bathroom to splash water in his face. The villainous _5:21 AM_ red numbers glowed through the darkness, and Dean decided on taking a long enough shower to take up the hour he should have kept sleeping. He stripped off his clothes and stepped under the cold spray of water. He faced the showerhead and tried to rub the memory of Castiel out of him, and still the blue tiles only reminded him of his eyes.

_Forget, forget_, his mind chanted in a painful contrast to his heart. He leaned against the wall of the shower cell, taking a deep breath, and still all he could think of was Castiel. This was his patient.

Patient.

"_Dean_," he could still hear echoing.

Patient.

"_Want you_."

Patient.

"_Love you_."

"I am so fucked," Dean mumbled to himself and poured twice as much shampoo in his hair.

* * *

Castiel woke slowly. His body uncurled and stretched itself out, hair poking at his closed eyes as if it was chanting a wakeup call. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times through the dimly lit room. Castiel was more of a morning person than anything, and still he liked to stay in bed as long as necessary. There was something protective about the blankets that trapped the body heat around him. He took in a deep breath, used to the particular aroma of the hospital. He closed his eyes again as one would draw a curtain.

He lay motionless for another ten minutes before there was a knock and Charlie appeared with his medicine. He propped himself up with one arm and threw a hand through his hair to keep it out of his eyes. He heard Charlie chuckle softly and double check the chart in her hands.

"You have quite the bedhead," Charlie noted, almost to herself but probably meant for Castiel to hear, as well. "Here's your meds. If they look strange tell me! Do they look right? Should I call Doctor Mills to make s—"

"They're right, Charlie, thank you," Castiel interrupted and took the pills from her. He quickly swallowed them to get it over with and pulled the blanket back over him, feeling disappointment rush over him when he realized it was cold again.

"Oh, okay," she said, though she didn't look any more at ease. "I'm gonna stay here for a little bit. Make sure."

Castiel was caught between wanting to sigh and laugh, and he ended up doing a mixture of both with was a little weird. Charlie sat down on the corner of his bed, sneaking glances at him while trying to look casual. Castiel felt a smile crawl onto his face at her concern.

It was like that for a while, neither talking. It was a comfortable silence. There comes a point when familiarity becomes strong enough that silent conversations take place; not that Castiel and Charlie were so familiar with each other, but that they were similar enough not to be bothered by troublesome acts like talking. Conversing. Socializing is bonding, comforting, but presence is trust and faith and love.

"Well, I've got to deliver the rest of these pills," Charlie said, "You look fine—Call me if you're not!—so I'll just see you later. Okay?"

Castiel nodded and watched her leave. He folded his hands together and watched the spaces disappear. He should probably go to breakfast soon. People said he needed to eat, but he—

His mind went blank.

Oh, right, he was an angel, of course he didn't need to eat. Still, he ended up walking out to the main room anyways. He sat in a chair in front of all the game boards; almost all of the other seats were empty, save for two people playing scrabble. He crossed his legs adolescently and sat by himself, staring at the game board in front of him. It was Sorry. He put all the pieces back to start and picked up a card to move the red pawn. He didn't need to use the ones in his pocket since all of them were already on the board. He waited for someone to join him. Normally it was Gabriel.

Four minutes passed, and still no one had come. Castiel's head swiveled around to try to find one of his brothers. They were usually _always_ there, somewhere, why could he not find one now? His eyes passed people with bowls of cereal and plates of cheap eggs (they _called_ them eggs), but he couldn't see Gabriel, Balthazar, or Samandriel, or anyone.

"Gabriel?" Castiel called.

No one answered him.

"Balthazar?" the name felt strange on his lips.

He couldn't call Samandriel before his eyes fell on Dean talking to a nurse by the **Employees Only** door on the other side of the room. He ran up to him in a perceivable state of panic, grabbing his arm with wide eyes.

"Dean," he said, breathless from running, "Dean, I can't find them."

Dean flinched away from him and he had to regain his balance, nearly falling. Castiel felt something pinch inside him. He had probably just startled Dean, though something nagged that Dean probably didn't want Castiel to touch him. He held his hands behind his back subconsciously.

"W-What?" Dean almost sounded flustered—was he blushing?

Castiel ignored it. "I _can't find_ anyone. I-I can always see them and I went to play Sorry and I waited for Gabriel but I couldn't see him and I tried to look for him and then I _still_ didn't see him so I tried to call him and he didn't hear me and then I tried to call _anyone_ and—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," Dean had shaken himself during Castiel's ramble and seemed to be back to normal now. It made Castiel feel more at ease. "You mean you can't find your brothers?"

Castiel shook his head violently. Dean's eyes flickered around the room in thought; he seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion, but he wasn't speaking. Castiel stared up at him with wide eyes, as if somehow he could touch him with his sight. He felt scared. He felt alone, sitting by the Sorry game board with no one to play. Dean always made him feel safer. Against his will, his feet carried him a step closer.

Dean's eyes darted down to him and Castiel would have thought he made him uncomfortable if Dean would have stepped back or looked away. Castiel's sight captured Dean's eyes in a rope and pulled him closer. Dean's eyes flickered over Castiel's face. He swallowed.

"Cas," he started in an uneven voice. "Personal space."

Understanding lit up Castiel's eyes.

"Oh," he said, "Right."

Castiel took a step back, and Dean's shoulders slumped over. Dean raked a hand through his hands exasperatedly before glancing back at Castiel. Neither of them could remember what they were talking about. Dean let out a soft sigh and looked back at Castiel. Electricity shot through Castiel's body.

"Have you eaten?" Dean asked, eyes drifting to the breakfast line.

_No, look at me_ _again_, part of Castiel argued but he pushed it down. Incomprehension burned at the edges of his emotions.

"No."

"Come on, then."

Dean walked him to the breakfast line. Something felt different; not a bad different, but something had changed. There was a thin veil where a wall used to be. Castiel felt his hands move on their own to grab the plate of eggs and a plastic cup of orange juice. He snuck a look at Dean's face to catch his eyes dart away at the moment Castiel's eyes touched into Dean's. He occupied himself with carrying the tray and finding a place to sit down. That difference from now to then was irritating him like a loose seatbelt. He couldn't point out what it was, yet there it was, and it would continue to poke and prod at him like a science experiment. He wondered if Dean knew what the difference was. He wondered if he should ask.

Castiel sat down at an empty table. Dean hesitated before sitting next to him. Castiel ate emptily, putting food into his mouth, but feeling it turn to ash. He never liked to eat, he never liked the feeling it gave, still he ate because Dean told him to. The something-different nagged at him again.

"Dean," Castiel started. Dean's breath hitched. "Is something wrong?"

"No?" Dean replied, his tone rising as if it were a question.

Castiel narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. Something was _definitely_ off. Dean was jumpy, not at ease like he normally was. Nonetheless, Castiel couldn't find it in him to argue if Dean didn't want to say anything. It was a funny turn of events, the patient trying to get his doctor to talk about what was the problem. It made Castiel smile and stuff another forkful of eggs in his mouth. It was easier to eat around Dean.

Without warning, Castiel took one of Dean's hands in his own and turned it over to look at his palm. His fingers traced over the lines of his skin.

"H-Hey, What? What are you doing?" Dean sputtered. Why was he acting so strange?  
"I learned things about palm reading," Castiel explained. "I've never read anyone's palm though. I tried to read my sister's, but she said it was evil and ungodly then made me go read a Bible scripture."

"Huh," puffed from Dean's lips. "That's stupid. Well, what does mine say?"

Castiel looked closer, fingers moving over the skin. Dean's hand was warm and calloused, radiating with the potential of something he couldn't pinpoint. He stuck to the basics, though. He hadn't studied that far in before his sister made him stop.

"The line up here, how it doesn't reach all the way up to your finger, it means you're a dreamer rather than a realist. You're open-minded."

Dean nodded mutely and Castiel looked up at him, then back at his hand.

"I like your hand," he blurted before he realized what he said. "I-I mean—" his cheeks flushed and he ducked his head. "Sorry, that sounded creepy."

Dean laughed, and all Castiel could think was how much he loved it when Dean laughed. He wanted to record it and keep it on repeat to listen to as a lullaby. That sounded creepy, too, didn't it? It made Castiel's blush darken.

"Nah, it's sweet," Dean said eventually. "Your hands aren't bad either."

Castiel chuckled nervously and his head wobbled in what could be seen as a nod. His thumb moved over Dean's knuckle slowly and then he retracted his hands as if he had touched a hot stove.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed, realizing he was basically holding Dean's hand. "Gosh, I'm an idiot…"

Dean laughed again and Castiel's heart fluttered in his chest. _I really like him_, he thought to himself and wanted to run away. Life was one big game, and easy the rules were, complex the game pieces were, because someone as perfect as Dean could never find love for something as low as him. He was a job for Dean; Dean got _paid_ to talk to him.

Unbeknownst to Castiel, similar thoughts were strung up in Dean's messed up head.

"Castiel?" a nurse approached the pair. "You have a visitor."

* * *

_Another A/N: Yeahhh the part with the palm reading actually happened to me. I was learning palm reading and tried to read my sister and she flipped out and called me satanic *shrugs* Anyways see you next chapter :D_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: IMPORTANT_  
_I added a little bit to the end of the last chapter (just a sentence I think) so if you haven't read that, go read it first. I never really think through this stuff before I write it, and I wanted to make the transition from this chapter and the last to be smoother, and to be obvious it was in the same day. _

**Soundtrack: Fix a Heart by Demi Lovato**

_The Day I Fly Away_

_Chapter IX_

Something unspoken crossed through the air, tiptoeing, dancing, jumping, hopping, springing, skipping, diving, no word could accurately describe it. It was stealthy, it was hidden. It was something that banged on doors and then ran away once the door was answered, and still it has no antecedent. Does it have none, or does it not need one? Questions without answers and answers where there were no questions, these things cloud around in nothingness and create its own being. Fanciful desires fabricate where nothing should be.

Castiel turned around, bemusement etched into his features. His heart plummeted when he saw her. Her hair was the same chocolate brown color as his own. Her eyes were a lighter shade than his own. He had grown taller than her now. She looked so different, he felt so changed, but at the same time, time turned back eleven years.

"Castiel," she said in a shaking voice. She looked more terrified than Castiel did.

Castiel felt his hands shaking and felt in danger of losing the ability to stand. It was the combination of shock and fear the curled up inside his chest and tore around inside. He felt like someone had yanked a rug from under his feet. Images, voices, memories flashed behind his unseeing eyes. He leaned against the table behind him, his feet pushing against the floor as if he was trying to get away.

"Cas?" it was Dean's voice. Castiel's eyes looked younger, more innocent, more vulnerable.

Castiel bolted.

He pushed Dean aside and ran as quickly as he could anywhere but _here_. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, buckets of air thrown in and out of his lungs. Everything Castiel had hidden from himself, buried under miles of dirt and sand, had surfaced, reached up with splintered nails. He didn't know where he ended up, but he threw a door open and slammed it shut behind him. He fumbled with the lock of the door before falling to the floor against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest. He felt tears threaten to fall. He felt seventeen years old again.

A fist banged on the door and Castiel clapped his hands over his ears as tears did start to escape him. He shook his head violently, forcing out memories that tried to sinfully climb up from the depths of everthing that ruined him.

_"Get out of there!"_ he heard ring from the past and cover up anything of the present.

The hand kept knocking and knocking and knocking and _knocking_ and _knocking_, oh God why did it not stop knocking? Reality was that the hand only knocked for a few seconds, but it was echoing and repeating in the mind that could not be remedied by any of the contents of the clinic center. Castiel tugged at his hair. No matter how hard he covered his ears he could still hear the past.

The door handle jiggled and there was a click as a key turned. Castiel shut his eyes tightly and screamed, pushing himself farther from the door.

"I'm _SORRY_!" Castiel screamed and held his knees tighter, he hiccupped in sobs.

"C-Castiel, I'm sorry," the woman whispered in a shaking voice. Her hand covered her mouth as she shook her head. "I-I didn't mean for—I didn't mean to—"

Dean pushed past her and knelt by Castiel on the floor. His eyes raked down his figure helplessly. Castiel looked so _small_. Dean reached out a hand gingerly and touched Castiel's hand. He was shaking.

"Cas? Cas, it's all right. No one's going to hurt you. Look at me, come on, look at me," he found himself saying without thought.

Castiel opened his eyes. All he could see was _Dean_.

_You are safe_, was played in the symphonies of Dean's voice. He could see Dean's lips moving, but he didn't hear him. Castiel felt another tear blink down his cheek as he uncurled and leaned over. His arms tightened around Dean's torso and he pressed his face into Dean's chest. _Safe, safe, safe_, ran through his veins, this strong, full chemical intoxicating him. Dean had shooed the others out of the room by flinging an arm in their direction.

The door shut softly.

Castiel sniffled and breathed in the scent of Dean's shirt. He moved closer, his legs over Dean's lap as he held him close. At first Dean had stiffened as if he was uncomfortable, but then relaxed and held Castiel in a warm embrace.

"Angel warding?" Castiel croaked in a voice sore from crying.

"Angel warding," Dean responded, a strange mix of amusement and compassion woven between the words. "You want to tell me who that was?"

Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes dancing from the door back to Dean's eyes.

"Naomi."

Castiel put his head to Dean's chest and listened to his heartbeat. The colors of what he was turned white, denial clouding his thoughts. He refused to think outside the walls of this room, refused to think of anything other than the protection Dean provided, of anything other than Dean's arms.

"Wait—One of your sisters? An angel?"

Castiel nodded again.

"Cas," Dean said seriously, "Is she really an angel?"

Castiel looked up at him, his face contorting into something of confusion. "What?"

"And Balthazar is a friend, not an angel, too, right?"

"I do not understan—"

"Meg wasn't eith—"

"Dean, you s-said—You told me whatever I thought was _real_."

"I said that if that was how you saw the world, and how it made you feel, all of that was real—But I suspected this a while ago, I should have said something—What you've done to yourself, is you made this reality for yourself because the real world was too much for you."

Castiel's mind raced, the words flying right through him and over his head before he had a chance to catch them.

"I-I don't understand."

Castiel felt Dean's hands in his hair. They were gentle, a gesture of comfort.

"Whatever Naomi did to you, whatever everyone did to you, it was too painful to accept. Your mind worked in defense against it and blocked it out, it twisted your memories into something else."

"No!" Castiel shook his head, "I am Castiel, an _angel_! I—"

"Name all your brothers and sisters," Dean interrupted.

Castiel sat up to see Dean more clearly. His heart fell and rose like thunder.

"I don't under—"

"Stop _saying_ that! Just name your brothers and sisters. Trust me."

Castiel narrowed his eyes in defiance, "Balthazar, Samandriel, Anna, Naomi, Gabriel." His voice stopped there.

Silence wedged up between the pair before Dean spoke up again.

"Keep going."

Castiel's eyebrows knitted. "What?"

"You told me before that you have over two million brothers and sisters, and that wasn't even ten," Dean pointed out.

Castiel's spirits fell and scraped against the ground in a gradual sense of dread. His mind and heart felt severed into two separate instruments rather than parts of a whole. His mind worked against himself in the pretense of defense. He didn't want to believe Dean's words. He didn't want to think of anything other than what his heart beat in joy.

"Cas, you need to remember," Dean told him softly. "Only then can I help you heal."

Dean's command fluttered and flew over Castiel's head. He fell limp against Dean's body in defeat and his head rose and fell in something akin to a nod.

"I'll try," he whispered.

Dean pulled Castiel to his feet. Castiel stood on shaking knees and held onto Dean's arm so tightly it could have bruised.

"It's all okay. Nothing will hurt you anymore," Dean told him. Castiel nodded.

It was only a few feet to the door, but it felt like miles to Castiel. The doorway elongated with each step he took, each shaking, trembling step. He held onto Dean's arm tighter. Dean was the one that opened the door, leading both of them out. A large breathe fell from Castiel's lips like a heavy rainfall as there was no one standing outside the door.

He followed faithfully wherever Dean was leading him, and they ended up back in Castiel's room.

"Grab your pillow," Dean told him as a smile crept onto his lips.

Through the cloud of confusion, Castiel found trust, and took his pillow from the bed. He watched with wide, questioning eyes as Dean took the mattress off his bed, blanket, sheets and all. Unspoken questions spilled from Castiel's eyes, but he didn't have time to ask them before Dean was running out the door with them.

Castiel followed him, both of them running through the halls of the hospital. It was free and beautiful without meaning to be; elation and ecstasy flowing through the two. A nurse nearly stopped them, but she recognized Dean and stood aside, looking no less confused than Castiel. Dean pushed open the door to his office and threw the mattress down inside. His chest shook as he tried to catch his breath.

Castiel dropped his pillow on the mattress and stood next to Dean, eyes bright and laughing, but also alit with questions. To have millions of questions and not ask any is a sign of sure faith. A small laugh bubbled up from Dean's throat and the walked to the door to close it. He sat down in the chair Castiel used to sit in for their therapy sessions.

"Sleep over!" Dean declared and raised his hands with a silly grin on his face.

Castiel felt happiness ablaze inside him and he laughed, sitting on the mattress. His heart thumped heavily and against the chains of what might be. At the moment, Castiel wanted nothing more to just grab Dean's hands and spin around, dance, do _something_ because he felt saved.

"We'll talk later. You seem like you need a break."

Castiel rushed up from the makeshift bed and into Dean's chest. It felt like running into a wall, and Dean stumbled back onto the table, but Castiel seemed unfazed, his arms wrapping around him in a messy hug. _I love you, I love you, I love you_, played like a looped ballad inside of him. He felt Dean's hands find his back slowly and give him a comforting pat. _I really love you_.

Castiel looked up at Dean, their eyes meeting and mixing in something soft and loving. And in something tacit, Castiel raised on his toes and Dean leaned down to kiss him. It was slow and deliberate, it was _everything_. Tentative and cautious turned to desperate, Castiel feeling Dean's hands holding him tighter as if he was questioning if this moment was tangible, if it was real. Castiel's hands pressed against Dean's chest, feeling the warmth radiate off him.

"I love you," Castiel confessed in a voice that was scattered in the air. "I've never loved anyone like I love you now."

Dean's hands flew to Castiel's hair, tangled up in the locks. He nodded quickly. "I don't know how this happened, but I fell for you, too," he said breathlessly, "I fell in love with you."

"Dean," Castiel said desperately, as if it was the last time he would ever be able to say his name.

Dean pulled Castiel into his arms and placed a kiss on his head. His arms, wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Castiel felt as if a castle wall of Camelot had been built around him.

"I never want to see you hurt," Dean was talking senselessly now, sputtering out everything he held in before. "You don't know how painful it is to see you when you're hurt. Your eyes weren't made for tears."

Castiel hid his face in Dean's chest. His heart swelled in everything of desire, he held Dean like he was the last material thing of the earth. He held him like he was the soil that grounded him because he was. He felt a puff of a breath fall from Dean's lips and then his arms tighten. Castiel didn't know how long they stayed like that. They were timeless.

"I'm going to fix this," Dean said determinedly. "I swear, I'll fix you."

Castiel nodded mutely.

"Dean, I don't even know where to start."

"How about the beginning?"

"The beginning?"

"When everything started getting bad."

Castiel was quiet for a moment.

"I think it started with Meg," he whispered.

One after another, doors of his mind unlocked and opened. He felt Dean nod slowly and thread his fingers through his hair in comfort.

"Tell me about Meg."


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: _

_I'm sorry for the long wait but this chapter was really difficult for me to write. Originally, Meg wasn't going to be such a significant character but life happened and her character was inspired by someone close to me and I thought "hey that's a cool story line, plus it's like writing-therapy. Why not?" _

_A__ctually starting to write this was really hard. _

_I would just think of something then delete it, unsure of how to start, then I'd have to brainstorm and think of how which would make me think of the person that inspired Meg's character and then I'd get too caught up in my thoughts and start crying and just relapsing and it was just really horrible. I'm like my portrayal of Castiel in some ways, I live in my head mostly and I guess I sort of blocked the memory of that-person without realizing it and this story made me remember and you can probably guess the rest. I'm not even that happy with how the chapter turned out but I hope you like it at least a little. _

_Actual conversations and direct quotes were used. (Meg's huge speech was direct quote. Facebook is a bitch.) Pretty much when everything starts getting bad, it's true story bro. Enjoy maybe?_

* * *

**_Soundtrack: Over You by Ingrid Michaelson (ft. A Great Big World)_**

_Twelve years ago_

It's really difficult to start telling a story of how something came to be, how something spiraled from a life into something so twisted. There are thousands of threads, each leading to the same destination, but all getting there in different ways, and you can pluck one string—Listen to it resonate and ring in a harmony that shouldn't exist. And that's how it is with this story, too. So Castiel picked up his hand and flicked his wrist and plucked a string—

To be hurt is to be loved—past tense. It might be best to start at love.

_ Hands tangled in hair tangled in hearts. How something so violent changed into something so soft would always be a mystery to Castiel, because now, he was against the wall in his bedroom, history notes strewn on the floor with a girl he swore he hated kissing him. He still hated her. He never liked her, never will—_Oh wow, her breath smells really nice_. _

_ "Where'd you learn that, Clarence?" he heard Meg murmur, feeling her lips move and form the words not even a centimeter away from his own. His mind felt hazy and he spoke without thinking._

_ "How the United States joined World War II or the kiss?"_

_ Meg was a head shorter than him, but her hands tugged at his shirt to keep him from straying too far away not unlike a pet owner would tug on a dog's leash. Somehow, this was more endearing. He still hated her. He would never like her, of course. _

_ "The kiss, genius," Meg drawled._

_ "Oh," Castiel said, dumbfound. "I didn't."_

_ Meg's lips twisted into a smile that made Castiel's heart flip. But he hated it of course. _

_ "Was that your first kiss, Clarence?" she asked, her lips stretching wider with each passing word. "Did I steal it from you? Am I your first kiss?"_

_ "You're about to be the first girl I hit," Castiel said insincerely in a mumbling voice in lack of anything else to say. Anything to keep the blush from rising too far onto his face. _

_ "You'd never hit me," Meg said and Castiel felt himself being tugged down again._

_ His hand anchored on her shoulder to keep from falling over and he vaguely wondered how they got this far. Since freshman year, they had been sworn enemies, and they'd always be like that, and now, here they were junior year… Doing whatever it was they were doing. Don't get him wrong, he still hated her._

_ Just, maybe a little less than before._

_ "Pearl Harbor," Meg said softly. _

_ Or a lot less._

_ "Huh?"  
"Japan was first to attack the big ol' U. S. and it dragged us into the war."_

_ "I knew that," Castiel claimed. _

_ "Which is why it's the only question blank on your paper."_

_ "I just haven't written it down yet. You sort of attacked me."_

_ Meg hummed in a sort of way that portrayed disbelief. She let go of Castiel at last and Castiel felt something sink inside him, maybe it was disappointment, maybe it was relief, maybe it was a strange mixture of the two. His heart thrummed loudly in his chest while he watched Meg pick up her paper from the floor. He wondered if the last seven minutes had all been in his mind and Meg would turn around, call him a geek and laugh at him again. _

_ But she didn't._

_ "I not-hate you, Clarence," she proclaimed._

_ "My name is Castiel."_

_ "Like I said, Clarence."_

_ "_Castiel_."_

_ Meg laughed. He got that part right._

_ "So do you not-hate me, too?"_

_ Castiel took a moment purely just to boost her ego. He considered lying, though it probably was just all of the oxytocin bouncing around his system from the close proximity and romantic gestures—He overthought things much too often. At least that made up for the time he was supposed to be thinking about her question._

_ "I suppose so."_

_ Meg gave him a toothy grin that he not-hated. He didn't really remember when it was that she left. He didn't really remember the answers to the rest of the questions._

_ After that day, their relationship shot up like a firework. They were the cute-cuddly couple that made everyone feel a little sick, that pulled each other into an empty classroom and giggled into the kiss. Somehow, when Castiel imagined dating Meg, he imagined it to be something heated and sex-based. That was definitely not the case. They weren't shy, per se, but they didn't want to ruin a sweet moment by throwing in something too much. _

_ A lot of people told them they were cute together, the whole height difference looking like it was straight out of a movie, though there was no raising-on-the-toes as much as there was yanking-down-so-fast-Castiel-felt-like-he-might-fall-over. Assertive when getting what she wants, Meg was slower and sweeter once she had it. Castiel not-hated it._

_ They were children._

_ Falling over their own two feet, trying to learn to walk, skinning their knees, and _run_. It was something innocent what they caught themselves in—It was serendipity. They were teenagers. Everyone asked them about their sex life, except that there was none. Sometimes Meg would lie and say that Castiel was a total great lay just to make him sputter and blush. Others wondered how their relationship sustained without sex. Castiel and Meg wondered what kind of relationship it was to have one sustaining on sex. It was magical, mystical, everything that came from a fanciful romance novel—not that Castiel read those. He not-hated those, too. That was something they often said, until one day_

_ "Tell me you love me," Castiel said breathlessly while they were tangled under blankets during the winter. _

_ "What? Getting sick of not-hating me? Only if you say it first."_

_ "You say it."_

_ "You!"_

_ "Never!" he laughed. "Fine. Same time."_

_ "One,"_

_ "Two,"_

_ "Three."_

_ "I love you," Castiel said alone. Once he'd said it he glared at her, pushing her down onto the bed in a seeming fit of anger though the embarrassed blush running up his neck made it all look silly. Meg started laughing, her head tossed to the side and hair scattered over the mattress. "You have to say it at least now!"_

_ "All right, all right," she said with a sloppy grin adorning her cheeks. "I love you, Clarence."_

_ Castiel surged down and stole a kiss. "Actually use my name," he complained._

_ "What? It isn't Clarence? What other secrets have you kept from me?"_

_ "Meg!"  
"I love you, Castiel."  
Something happy swirled and twisted up Castiel's insides. He smiled and leaned on her shoulder, nose touching her neck. Something felt so warm and beautiful about this moment. He not-hat—loved her. This was three years after they met, three months after they kissed. They got an A on the history assignment, by the way. Castiel did most of it. Meg answered the question about the United States simply because she kept saying Castiel didn't know the answer. _

_ Everything was like living on a carousel. It was like flying, for lack of a better word. It was like breathing in cotton candy. It was like wearing old T-Shirts that just got out of the dryer every day. It was like singing in the pouring rain—It was like—It was like—There were too many analogies for this instance to name, not because of the abundance of people that were capable of feeling what they felt, but because they felt so many things all at once. It was like double-dutch jump roping._

_ Castiel gave his life away wrapped in cheap wrapping paper and he tied the bow himself and mailed it off, he gave his life to Meg. How did he ever know he spent his life running from what he was chasing? Sometimes you just have to stop and be hit with it. All those nights—_

_ All those nights he tucked himself into bed and told himself he was good enough for the world—_

_ He now had someone else to fall asleep with. _

_ They shared so much they might as well of shared a name. Meg told him about her family, she was an only child with two parents who were deeply religious, and Castiel told her about his own. He didn't remember his parents hardly at all, father leaving his mother after finding out she was pregnant and his mother dying in child labor with his younger sister Anna. His older sister, Naomi, took care of them. She was kind. _

_ Somewhere along the line, Meg started coming over to Castiel's house more often. She said that her parents were angry with her and Castiel nodded and pulled her into his arms in some sort of comfort—Like_

_ the whole world would disappear around him since he now held it in his arms. The topic always changed very quickly, but that's always how it started. Meg would show up by his front door and say the same thing: "Mom and dad are mad at me. But that's okay, I guess." Castiel believed her at first. _

_ It was three months later that her parents came to him._

_ "Meg isn't speaking to us," her father told him, genuinely concerned. "We don't know what we've done."_

_ "She told me you were upset with her," Castiel remembered saying slowly, uncomprehendingly._

_ "No!" her mother said, seeming to be offended by the accusation. "We love her! She just won't speak to us. Not a word. We've tried calling, texting, knocking on her door, locking the front door so she can't leave but she climbs out a window. She just—Please, can you tell her we love her? We just want to talk to her again. She's our daughter."_

_ Castiel nodded slowly, promising he would talk to her about it. _

_ They left his home with wistful prayers to the Heavens. Castiel could see the desperation, the fists thrown to the air in a demand what they had done. Castiel felt strings tugging him in different directions. From Meg's distraught features to her parents' pleads for her to come home. Meg came over to his home later that night the same as every other night._

_ "My mom and dad are mad at me."_

_ Castiel sucked in a deep breath, unsure how to go about it._

_ "But that's all right," she continued in a way to change the subject again. Castiel didn't want her to._

_ "Why don't you try to talk to them about it?" he suggested._

_ Meg looked shocked. "I've tried to smooth things over but all they do is yell at me and make me want to cry."_

_ "What?" Castiel scooted closer, holding her closer. "That's… Horrible. You know I love you." _

_ He placed a kiss to her temple._

_ "Yeah."_

_ They lapsed into silence before Castiel heard her parents' words echo in his head. It was all just misunderstanding and miscommunication. If only they would speak, it would all get better, and something just felt one-sided about what Meg was saying._

_ "You should go talk to them. Go home. They love you, you know. They're you're parents."  
Meg was quiet before he said, "Did they tell you to say that?"_

_ "What?" Castiel felt his chest tighten. "No! I mean, they talked to me, but they really do care for you. You should—Just tell me why they're mad at you? What's going on?"_

_ "You want me to tell you?" Meg asked in a raising voice. "They abuse me! They mistreat me! They claim—They claim to be Godly and holy but they aren't! They think I'm satanic! A demon! One day my mother shook my shoulders and shouted at the skies—TO GOD—To 'get this demon out of my daughter'! I'm not a demon! I'm a prophet! I-I- I can hear The Lord's voice, Castiel!" Meg's voice started to shake. Castiel nearly thought she was done, but she took a huge breath and continued._

_"I'm just so shocked by how mean they're being. And by how cruelly they're treating me. They're so unloving to me, and then they accuse me of not loving them... It hurts me so bad that they can't let me follow God. They told me that I'm not hearing God. Can you imagine that, Clarence? Would you ever deny the creator of the world? Or his words? How can ANYONE do that? _

_"Love isn't one sided. It's not be loved first, and then love someone second. You are always supposed to love first without condition. ESPECIALLY your daughter. It's like they never learned the lesson they taught me... I'm so hurt by the way they've been treating me. _

_"Ordering me around—They accuse me of being arrogant when I am ANYTHING but that. I have prayed to God asking him if it's true, repenting and begging God to forgive me for this, and you know what he told me? He said I am so modest. I have already learned to be humble and modest, and now I need to learn my true worth. _

_"I need to delight in his glory, God's glory, and the beauty that he made me in. And I am learning COURAGE. Godly courage, undeniable courage. I am a warrior and a prophet and a poet of the Living God, of Yahweh. I am not afraid of mom and dad, and even though the things they say wound me beyond human repair, I know a SUPERNATURAL AND TRUE HEALER who walks with me every day. Mom and dad can't control me anymore, and I hope they repent for the AWFUL things they have done, and for the SINS they have committed against God. I hope you'll know God just like I do, Clarence," Meg gave out a huff of a laugh._

_ "I really really am praying for you every day that you'll blossom into a wonderful man of God. I love you so much Castiel, and one of my biggest pains is that mom and dad will find out that we're friends and will try to end our courtship. I love you so much. But mom and dad have wronged me, and they have sinned greatly against God. They are making it worse every day…" her voice trailed off at first and then she sucked in breath through her teeth in presumable anger. _

_She said, "They are knocking down dishes and furniture and breaking things, and instead of stepping around it and pretending it didn't happen, THEY ARE BREAKING MORE THINGS. EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING THEY CAN GET THEIR HANDS OUT. They are listening to EVIL and are WRONG and SINNING AGAINST THE LORD ALMIGHTY. They are preying on the weak, their own flesh and blood, those who are easiest to love they are CASTING AWAY as if the GEM that the Lord has given them (his daughter) is nothing more than a piece of worthless coal. _

_"His wrath is so, so real, and they are testing him, the God of everything. They deny him daily. What happens to people who deny the Lord? Yahweh Almighty? What happens to them?" Castiel felt still, the air around them feeling colder. Meg continued softly, "It is almost better not to know what happens to such people… I won't tell you what happens to them, Castiel... I will keep praying for mom and dad, and that they will let God back in their lives, but I really can't do anything. It's all between them and God," Meg held Castiel's hand tighter. "I love you Clarence. So, so much."_

_ The air was still and silent, partly because Castiel was unsure if she was going to continue, partly because he had absolutely no words to say. And so he didn't say anything, simply hold her in his arms. Something crawled between them, a barrier, a veil—_

_ It was then that everything started to break. It was slow and gradual, but it was eventual._

_ Afterwards, her parents were in contact again. "I swear to you, Castiel," his mother said with unrelenting desperation. "I swear we would never hurt her. We never have—She just suddenly—I don't know! I really don't know! What happened to her?" her mother started to break down in tears and hide her face in her hands. _

_ "I miss her so much," her father said in a voice that dripped with longing. He placed a kiss on his wife's cheek. "We just want her home. She hasn't been home in months. We have no idea where she's staying."_

_ Castiel felt stuck in mud._

_ Gross, filthy, mud. He was screaming at walls, at bricks, and no one would hear his words. _

_ He found himself siding with Meg's parents. Something was… Wrong. It was only right to try to talk things out; it seemed to be the only solution. Castiel was patient and kind, trying to coax Meg out of wherever she was. They only spoke over the phone now. Over texting. The memory of her voice was starting to fade. _

_ All of her texts were the same._

_ "I love you."_

_ "Be careful."_

_ "I'm happy where I am."_

_ "You should be happy, too."_

_ "I love you."_

_ "Be good, Clarence."_

_ All of them were the same._

_ Then, all at once… She just stopped replying._

_ He sent her messages every day. He was blind and he was ignorant of everything that was happening. It felt surreal. It felt like something that was supposed to be in some TV drama. He would call her just to listen to her voicemail. "Hi, this is Meg. Leave me a message," plain and simple in a voice that sounded a little too broken. Everything felt dripping through his fingers as if he was trying to hold the oceans of the world in his palms._

_ He reread all of the text messages to pass the time. He held the bed sheets, the ones that clung to her scent, and he fell asleep to the pretense of her. He fell asleep in sheets of tears and heartache. He understood how her parents felt, being completely cut off from someone that they used to use like a drug. If this was how heroin addicts felt, he never ever was going to even think about doing drugs. The last message she sent broke through him like dagger not through the heart or the back, but through the soul that they used to share._

_ "I'm really happy where I am. You should be happy, too! Be good, Cas!" was the last message she ever sent, and would be the last of her words Castiel would ever hear in his life. _

_ He sent her poetry every night._

_Take me to the bakery._

_All things sour, turn them sweet._

_I don't mind if you skip out_

_On the chocolate chips and cream._

_Hold my hand as we walk down_

_All these caramel-paved roads,_

_Bring me lollipops under each streetlight. And so_

_Long as you may hide,_

_Under sugar-coated lies_

_I suppose I can't bring myself_

_To fight._

_I'm sitting all alone, by the _

_Bakery_

_We used to go._

_"You're late," I mumble to the caramel-paved roads,_

_A mouthful_

_Of sour cookie dough._

_ And still his inbox lay broken, abandoned and empty._

_I lay awake at night_

_To count the stars;_

_To listen to what I couldn't hear before._

_The soft scratching and whispering of the air,_

_The thumping of hearts that beat_

_In unison at the end._

_The tickle and the chill._

_And it's only because beauty is untainted_

_That many look over it without a thought._

_The world is beautiful, and it is cruel_

_Because the spiders poison and trap and eat the butterflies._

_Colors do not ask permission to shine, they_

_Just do._

_And I pull out my tattered wallet and_

_I ask the price to lose myself_

_Since a smile is so hard to come by these days._

_So with my nails bleeding from scratching _

_On the doors,_

_I stop to lay awake at night_

_To count the stars._

_ Oh he just wants to scream because she still won't answer—_

_She is a symphony._

_Crescendo, diminuendo, a tempo._

_Speak to me in nothing but fortzando. Lure me_

_In with empty gestures and lies._

_I bask in all that she is,_

_In spirit_

_Up bow, down, up, down bow,_

_Lift and release the sound._

_Play dolce, play legato, adagio,_

_Bring me up, she holds _

_My heart in her palms._

_Diminished chords ring crudely,_

_Augmented ring harshly._

_She plays me staccato._

_She drops me down and she rests for bars_

_And bars and bars and forty bars. She_

_Misses the downbeat, she misses the upbeat,_

_Here I conduct in three, yet she plays in four—_

_She's dragging_

_Dragging this tempo._

_She's playing in some empty rehearsal room,_

_Some dark rehearsal room,_

_Expecting them to see her._

_With rosin strewn,_

_With bow hairs fallen,_

_With bridges chipped and dead metronomes,_

_Broken music stands and ruined sheet music lay unplayed,_

_And now,_

_Not even she picks up her violin:_

_Adagio molto maestoso._

_ Castiel poured his heart out into nothingness. He had given over his life to someone who threw it away and now he felt numb. He felt like a used rag that just washed every dinner plate and was dropped on the floor in a pitiful attempt to hang it up. No one bothered to pick it up. Castiel clutched his phone like it was Meg, like it held her soul. It was another month of silence before Castiel texted her a final message, feeling pathetic for having to do this over an electronic device. _

_ "Meg?" he typed slowly. "I don't care if you don't… not-hate me anymore. I don't care if you do hate me. I would just like to know. Please," his fingers stuttered over the fingerboard. Each letter took an eternity to press. _

_ "If you don't love me, don't bother replying to this message either," he typed, "it will be more than words can ever say."_

Two months later, Meg still hadn't replied.

_ Lost in the wind, two broken souls, and the story ends right there. They never spoke again, they never saw each other again. What had started so beautifully ended so cruelly that made Castiel try to break down whatever he had built up with Meg. He deleted every picture of her. Every message, and convinced himself he didn't care. He fell asleep feeling empty. It was a dull feeling. He simply lost the capacity to love, to feel, to hurt. With swords and needles pricking and tearing up his insides, he blocked everything away._

_ He not-hated her. He didn't know her. He was blind to whatever may be of her._

_ He didn't understand._

_ Castiel closed his eyes and fell under the claws of nightmares, having lost his dream to the clutches of what he never was able to find. So one spiral starts and ends; a whirlpool spins around and destroys islands and continents._

_ As mentioned, a story ends right there, but another starts at a more horrifying magnitude._

* * *

**A/N: (again)**  
**Just some dictionary. One of the poems had a lot of musical terms so here's what they all mean:**

**Crescendo: Get louder**

**Diminuendo: Fade away**

**A tempo: Go back to the original tempo**

**Fortzando: Suddenly loud**

**Dolce: Sweet and pretty**

**Legato: Smooth**

**Adagio: Slow**

**Diminished/Augmented: different types of chords**

**Staccato: a sharp, short note**

**bar: music is broken up by bars/measures**

**Conducting in three/four: Music is written in time signatures. When something is written in three is is a dance, often happy or sweet and kinda jumpy and fun. Most songs are written in four.**

**Rosin: Glorified, expensive tree sap. You need it to play a stringed instrument.**

**bow hairs: For beginners, you need a bow to play a string orchestra instrument, and the bow has hair on it. Playing excessively or too hard will cause you to break hairs. (This isn't bad, in fact, a lot of musicians are proud when they break a hair or two. Some are annoyed, though.)**

**Bridges: Stringed instruments have bridges to keep the strings on? Idk still for beginners.**

**Metronomes: Assuming you still know nothing, a metronome keeps the beat. (tick tick tick)**

**Adagio molto maestoso: slowly with majesty. (However this is never played as the poem suggests)**

**I HOPE YOU LIKED IT KAY BYE TIL NEXT CHAPTER WHICH WILL DETAIL NAOMI**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:Okay so this chapter SHOULD have been up days ago but my computer actually BROKE. MIDSENTENCE. While I was writing this my computer just *turns off* ? Anyways my dad's a computer engineer person thingy so he was able to recover my documents (THANK GOD I WOULD HAVE KILLED SOMEONE) and I finished it ugh that was nerve wracking. Anyways I hope you like it a little. Angst ahead~**

**Soundtrack:Louder than Thunder by The Devil Wears Prada**

* * *

"_What are you sorry for?"_

_Eleven years ago_

_Castiel's mind fell before his feet evening after evening after dawn. It deteriorated. As if watching a man burn from the inside wasn't enough, his exterior crumbled under the pressure of what used to be so simple. His feet felt heavier because _he_ was heavier. Smoke filled up his lungs and he felt like he couldn't breathe only to realize there was no smoke, only the simmering ashes of a fire left to destroy. The deed was done, and whatever it had targeted was completely demolished. Castiel never felt more victimized by nothing at all. _

_As any other person, Castiel was sorry for many things. _

I'm sorry for stepping on your foot.

I'm sorry for eating the last slice of pizza.

I'm sorry for forgetting to do my homework.

_His sister, Naomi was seven years older than him. Anna was nearly three years old. Naomi always told Castiel that he and she looked like their father while Anna would grow up to be the spitting image of their mother. Her face portrayed nothing but joy and from the top of her head started to pour the soft red song of hair. Naomi worked in accounting._

_Their homelife was always something sweet and enjoyable. Anna was obviously the favorite of Naomi, but Castiel didn't feel upset about it since he loved Anna, too. There was something beautiful about the way she laughed, how she wobbled when she walked, her voice that was just starting to develop a soft, happy tone. Whenever Naomi was not at work, she was playing around with Anna, taking care of her. Castiel thought he should have felt left out but he never did. It was reasonable. His mother had died, and now his sister acted like he hardly existed, but he couldn't feel upset about it at all. His mother may be gone now, but she left behind a beautiful jewel that was the center of both Castiel's and Naomi's life. Castiel smiled as he helped her get dressed. She only had a year before she started school._

_When Meg left this giant hole in his chest, his everything slipped._

_He couldn't concentrate. Everything felt like wasps flying around his head as if he was something to be played with. He couldn't walk, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't live with his life taken away from him. He felt dull, this aching in his chest like a hand kept hitting and _hitting_ and hitting and _hitting_ and just—HITTING—him over and over. Make his heart work on its own—Why must a heart symbolize love when a heart's lack of work is what causes it to break? Castiel went through the motions of the day and hardly thought about anything. _

_We're getting a little sidetracked, though. I was supposed to tell you about what Castiel did, the thing that made him feel regret for the rest of his life—and "regret" is too soft a word to use. _

_"Cas! Cas!" Anna chanted and tugged on his leg. "Bath!"_

_Castiel picked Anna up in his arms and felt his face stretch into an uncomfortable smile. Anna bounced in his arms and tugged at his hair blindly as he tried to lean away, saying something like "Ow, Anna, no, that hurts!" Anna only giggled. A puff of breath escaped Castiel's lips as his feet slapped against the cold tile floor of the bathroom. He turned on the water, watching it fall over his fingertips as it slowly heated up. Anna swayed in his lap happily. She was always happy. Castiel overheard Naomi telling her once that she was probably a lost angel of Heaven. She was probably right._

_When the water seemed warm enough, Castiel helped Anna out of her clothes and into the tub. Anna sat down happily and splashed around in the water. She stared up at Castiel with elation sparking in her eyes. Castiel allowed the hole in his chest to be filled with lukewarm water and he allowed himself to smile back. He rubbed his eyes as if it would keep him alive and leaned against the tub with his elbow, though he flinched away when Anna splashed water on him. _

_"Bubbles!" Anna said, "Bubbles! Bubble bath!"_

_Castiel took a towel from atop the sink cabinet and dried his face and shoulders. "You want me to get you some bubble bath?" _

_Anna's head nodded violently and water flung from the thin hair on her head. Castiel searched among the shampoos and conditioners for bubble bath, finding nothing. He was sure they had some though; last time he used it the bottle was hardly half full. He moved a few more things, still not finding the bubble bath. Anna started to get restless and splashing water onto the floor._

_"I can't find it, Anna," Castiel told her, "Stop making a mess."_

_"Bubbles!" Anna sobbed and splashed around more._

_"Shh! Stop crying, please, here," Castiel held her shoulders softly to try to sooth her. It worked a little. "If I try to find some in the kitchen will you be good?"_

_Anna sniffled and nodded. _

_"Okay. You stay here, all right? No more splashing."_

_Castiel held Anna's eye for another four seconds before he was convinced she would behave and he ran off to the kitchen, searching where the cleaning supplies were for bubble bath. Perhaps it had gotten misplaced or mistaken for something else (though it was hard to mistake a pink bottle of princess bubble bath for bleach or something.) He was gone probably another four minutes before he actually did find a bottle of bubble bath behind the dish soap._

_Approaching the bathroom door, Castiel stepped in water. _

_"Anna?" he asked softly. He didn't hear a reply._

_Fear clenched Castiel's heart in its grubby palms as Castiel ran to the tub. The water was overflowing as Castiel had forgotten to turn it off before he left and Anna was under the surface. Castiel grabbed her shoulders and brought her from the bathtub, holding her face and trying to shake her awake. This was all just some joke that she was playing on him. It was supposed to be funny, or maybe a camera would show up behind him and a man would start laughing, telling him he was on a new game show. No one showed up._

_"Anna! Anna, look at me!" he said, listening for an absent heartbeat and feeling for a misplaced pulse. He didn't know anything about CPR. He wished he knew CPR. _

_Castiel abandoned her again and grabbed the phone, buttons jamming, fingers shaking, heart racing. He fell next to her again, pulling her into his lap and wrapping her in a towel. His jeans were soaked and his body shook violently from the chill. The bathwater had long since gone cold. A woman started talking on the phone, but Castiel couldn't understand her._

_"Hello? Sir? Ma'am?"_

_"Y-Yes," he finally spoke back._

_"What's your emergency?"_

_Castiel let out a sob. "I-I- My sister isn't breathing."_

_"Stay calm, sir, and please tell us your location."_

_"She was taking a bath and she isn't breathing! I-I don't know CPR, I was never good at home ed, she wanted bubble bath, I can't—She isn't _breathing_!"_

_"We're tracing your call now. Can you tell me how long she's been unconscious?"_

_"I don't know! I—I just came back and she was underwater and now she isn't—She's dead!"_

_"We don't know that, sir. Now, listen carefully. How old is your sister: child, or adult?"_

_"She's three."_

_"I'm going to talk you through CPR. The ambulance will take some time to get there so you'll need to keep her breathing."_

_"BUT SHE ISN'T!" Castiel shouted into the phone, tears falling, chest shaking._

_"She swallowed water. You need to get her to cough it up. Too long and she'll be gone. Now I want you to press into her chest with the heel of your palm about two inches in."_

_Castiel set the phone on the sink and shakily pushed into Anna's chest five times before he heard the woman on the phone talking again._

_"What?" he asked shakily and held the phone to his ear again._

_"I said to tilt her head back and listen for breathing. If she isn't, pinch her nose and cover her mouth with your own and breath into her until her chest rises. Do this twice and then pump her chest again."_

_Castiel hastily threw the phone down again and did as the woman instructed. Nothing was happening. Why wasn't anything happening? Anna felt colder, looked paler, Castiel wondered how he was supposed to save her life, how he was supposed to breathe for her if he felt he couldn't breathe himself. He was hyperventilating. The phone buzzed again in speech and Castiel grabbed at air a few times before he picked it up again._

_"H-Huh?"_

_"I asked if you're all right, if the child is all right."_

_"Anna still isn't breathing," Castiel cried into the phone. "It's all my fault. She's dead."_

_"We don't know that yet, sir. You've been very brave."_

_"I don't feel brave."_

_Just then there was rapid knocking on the door and Castiel carried Anna so not to leave her alone again. He opened the door, vaguely aware that he probably looked more dead than the child lying limply in his arms. The medics took her from there, carrying her to the back of an ambulance and asking if Castiel would ride along. Castiel felt void of a mind as he followed the men into the ambulance and sat beside one of them as a man performed CPR on her differently than Castiel had. He pressed in less and breathed slower. Castiel felt incompetent._

_At the hospital they had called Naomi whom had showed up with tearstained cheeks and demands to see her sister. After that, Castiel received the news as if it was a test._

**Please put the following events in the chronological order they happened in the passage.**

**Castiel got the bubble bath for Anna.**

**Anna asked for bubble bath.**

**Anna drowned in his absence.**

**Anna was pronounced dead.**

**Castiel called 911; despite his efforts, the child could not be saved.**

* * *

_Naomi blamed Castiel._

_But that's all right because Castiel also blamed Castiel. _

_And what started as verbal insults and cries and threats turned physical; it left Castiel shaken and afraid, feeling frail. He spent too much time alone now. School was an in-and-out event and home was a game of hide-and-please-don't-seek-me-out. Castiel was obviously bigger, stronger than Naomi in physicality, though without the mind and will to fight back, he found himself battered and broken in his room. Sometimes he welcomed it because it's only what he deserved._

_But sometimes he ran._

_Fear ripped away at him and his legs carried him of their own volition away and to his bedroom in the middle of a beating. He would hold his swollen cheek in his bloodied hand and cry silently to himself only to hear a fist beat on the door over and over and over._

_"Come out here!" Naomi would shout, her voice laced and driven with nothing but anger, worthless anger that holds us all by our feet._

_Castiel would shake his head with the strange, chilling feeling that Naomi could see him. He would hug his body closer and cry into his shirt. As if what he put himself through wasn't enough, the world added a dose of vengeful sister to the mix. The door would rattle and the door would shake until Naomi gave up._

_It was a month after the last of many of those instances when Naomi realized she had keys to locked doors._

_The door flung open and Castiel's eyes were wide and crazed and frightened. Naomi's firm hand gripped Castiel's hair and forced him to look at her. Castiel, seventeen years old and crying like a child, held onto her wrist in some attempt to defend himself. He could easily push her across the room, but then where would he be? A murderer and one who beats his sister?_

_"I loved her!" Naomi cried, shaking. "I loved her, and you killed her!"_

_"I'm sorry!" Castiel begged, "I can't find the right way to apologize to you, but I loved her, too, and I didn't mean to—"_

_Castiel was pushed to the ground and he felt Naomi hitting him over and over in weak punches that accumulated. Physically, they weren't that painful. Naomi was no body builder. It was the fact that his older sister, one who he saw as his mother for the longest time, felt enough hatred for him to want to hurt him. His heart bruised a darker color than his cheek._

_"Don't you dare try to talk about her!" Naomi screamed at him. "You can't pretend to love her, you cold-blooded monster!"_

_Castiel rolled and turned his back to her, unable to face the true accusations. The insults were often weak or unoriginal, and Castiel tore at his mind in wonder how they hurt as they did. Naomi was crazed with the soul of what she'd thrust into herself suddenly missing, or in her mind, taken from her. In short, she felt as Castiel did when Meg left him. Maybe worse. Her heart is too tightly locked for even the author of this story to try to peek inside._

_"It should have been you," Naomi cried at his bruised skin and trembling body._

_Castiel wept because it should have._

_Castiel spiraled into something dark. Something that you don't just wake up one day and suddenly you're okay. He fell into the abyss of what he didn't even care enough to name and what he choked himself with, what he killed himself with or wanted to. A life for a life was the saying, and though it was just an empty promise, Castiel found himself wanting to make that trade. His life was worthless and low, Anna was too young. Castiel tried to drown himself in the bathtub a month and a day after her death, but his body was selfish and forced his head above the water. Anna was selfless, yet another reason to add to a list of the world of reasons why Anna should have lived and Death's greedy claws should have grabbed him instead._

_He was distracted in school, but no one cared. Eyes would glance at him for just a moment and then cast away like a pole in the sea. His average dropped from all A's to straight C's and then scraped down to a D. Castiel couldn't bring himself to care, about that or about anything. Eventually his eyes had run dry and he lost the will to even cry. He felt empty. He lay awake in a bed of foolishness and darkness greeting him like an old friend. His eyes downcast, he forgot to buckle his seatbelt in the car and look both ways crossing the road. One day he found himself wishing the car would crash. The thought was not cast away._

_Come graduation year, Castiel was completely lost. His eyes were dull and his face was and arms were painted and littered with violent bruises and cuts. He found himself welcoming each time Naomi would hit him. He was a fine China doll, painted and cracked and left alone to fall victim to dust and mud. Castiel try to smile anymore. He had nightmares where Naomi had red hair and she was stronger. He convinced himself they were dreams even if he gasped and woke up screaming._

_Halfway through his senior year, Naomi had stopped being violent. _

_Castiel's bruises healed slowly, and as they did, Naomi seemed more at ease. She was more welcoming, and Castiel hated it with a passion that could not be understood. His heart stopped aching in his chest a while ago, and now he just felt the numb of ice frozen over. His eyes were glazed and he was gone. He dropped a dinner plate that night and looked expectantly to Naomi for her to yell at him._

_Naomi stood from her chair, walked over slowly, and knelt in front of him to collect the pieces._

_"Stop!" Castiel screamed at her. Her face was tired and shocked as her eyes rose to his face. "Yell at me!"_

_Her lower lip trembled. "No."_

_"Hit me!"_

_"No!"_

_"Tell me I'm worthless!"_

_"You aren't!"  
"Tell me I'm stupid and worthless and a monster and a murderer and no one needs me, no one wants me, and especially not you! Especially not me! Tell me it's my fault! I DESERVE IT!" Castiel screamed out, the first spark of emotion igniting in his chest for the first time in years._

_"I was a horrible person!" Naomi covered her face. "I realize that now and I was abusive to the only sibling I have left!"_

_"I'm sorry!" Castiel sobbed as if he could not hear her words. She would never forgive him._

_"I've forgiven you!"_

_He is undeserving of forgiveness. He'd learned that long ago. His mind and heart closed off the world some time ago and he relived the same months over and over, starting at Meg and ending somewhere with Naomi. He locked himself in his bedroom most nights and screamed in memory of what Naomi used to do to him. She used to throw things. Furniture, lamps, pots, plates, once boiling water. Naomi left the house when he screamed. Some nights she cried and knocked on his door, and with a small voice asked if he was all right when she knew he wasn't. _

_Naomi blamed herself._

_But that's all right because Castiel also blamed Castiel._

* * *

_It was well after graduation, during a flashback that Castiel bolted from his room and ran from the house. He didn't stop running for half a mile, and after that he continued walking with eyes crazed and terrified. His chest beat out of his chest and fluttered around uncomfortably. He didn't know where he was when he stopped walking. It was dark when he arrived at the front of a restaurant. He was vaguely aware that he was no longer at his home._

_He heard a distantly familiar voice. Castiel turned and saw a man in an apron and a nametag that read _Balthazar_—_

_"Cas?"_

_ Castiel broke in the arms of a stranger of a man._

* * *

**A/N: (again) So that's pretty much it. There are things that I don't want to explain in the narrative for stylistic purposes, but just in case you wanted to know and stuff after that Balthazar offers Castiel a cup of coffee in exchange for his story and then Castiel is able to get a job at the restaurant since Balthazar is the manager and pulls some strings. They talked very little in high school, and grow closer friends when working together when (you know this) Castiel has another flashback and Blathazar tells him about the mental hospital in the area. I still don't think I want to explain that in the narrative, but there it is XD So I hope you liked it a little. Review?**


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